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tcr! diaries - podcast

By tcr!

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The ebbs and flows of this alcoholic. It's all true. Sometimes I'm serious. Sometimes I'm not. The episodes tend to be short.

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1

ExplicitThe turn signal of my existence

The scene is my truck. I’m driving home after the workday and merge into the left lane.
The car in front of me also merges into the left lane. The almighty nerve.
I shout, “Nice turn signal mother-clucker!! 🤬”
And then I look down and see that I myself also did not use my turn signal.
Who’s the mother-clucker now?
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fiatlux423
· Aug 15, 2018 at 5:23 pm
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jimi hindrance experience
· Aug 15, 2018 at 5:27 pm
Only about once or twice a day for me…now.
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Momma J
· Aug 15, 2018 at 6:27 pm
Hilarious!
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tcr!
· Aug 15, 2018 at 8:39 pm
I think I have moments of clarity more in my truck than anywhere else.
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Momma J
· Aug 15, 2018 at 10:07 pm
Those moments usually happen when you least expect it, when you’re not trying to find the clarity
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tcr!
· Aug 16, 2018 at 7:56 am
For sure!
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jake
· Aug 16, 2018 at 1:37 am
🤔
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When I drive up 7th Avenue on St. Charles’ east side, headed toward Main Street I see this older guy sitting in his garage. It’s pretty packed in there but he’s got enough room for a lawn chair right up front by the overhead door.
I’ve seen him in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the early evening. Not everyday and not every time but he and his chair are fairly reliable.
Earlier this spring there was about a month when he wasn’t there and I was a little concerned that something had happened. Don’t worry, he showed up on his perch not long after.
He’s always flying solo in his white chair but one time I did see what looked like his daughter and grand kids leaving his house. And there he was, still sitting in the garage, watching them walk to their car.
After I go by I often want to turn around and go back. Stop and talk shop. I want to say that I haven’t had grandparents since I was in my 20s and back then I was too caught up in me to enjoy their company.
I wouldn’t ever really stop though. I’d worry that he would think I was going to take advantage of him or something. He’s kind of a brute, too. From the look of him I would guess that he eats nails and drinks gasoline.
But it'd be kinda cool if we could just hang out. Maybe look at some of his tools. He could tell me stories of when he was in the Navy or something.
He’d probably say I was moron when I tell him my plans to dig an underground bunker in my backyard like I suspicion that dude has on the corner of 7th Street and Prairie Street on the west side.
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Wallace
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:27 pm
it’s sad that we don’t approach people more often to hear their story. humans are poor communicators :(
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tcr!
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:37 pm
Maybe if I was out walking and happened to meander by his house and he was also in his chair, then I might go up and say “hi.” Maybe. He might throw his chair at me and tell me to get off his lawn. 😊
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tracy
· Aug 8, 2018 at 3:54 pm
Just go introduce yourself. I do it all the time. Sometimes they’re cool with it, sometimes they’re not.
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lisa
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:28 pm
He would probably love the company
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SarahBranock
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:38 pm
My daughter and I go past him several times a week on our walks and he is always friendly and says hello. 😉
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CE Parker
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:41 pm
Great post, there are so many branches to where this could lead. He’s obviously got some time so I’d say go ahead it won’t hurt.
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LisaD
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:45 pm
I’d say go talk to him. He’d probably like the company. 😊
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Jodi EB
· Aug 8, 2018 at 12:53 pm
I miss my Grandpa everyday! There are several nursing & assisted living homes in the area. Go one evening or weekend & ask who needs company!
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Chuck
· Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 pm
Being kind is a gift to give someone elderly.
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I’ve been working on my magazine pretty much since I got up, trying to get the July issue all done and off to the printer. Sometimes the pages and layouts just spill onto my screen effortlessly. It’ll sound kinda corny but when I do my best creative work it feels like the cosmos is directing me. That whatever I’m doing just comes out all on it’s own.
Same goes with writing or whatever, too. They’re not my words, they come from somewhere else. It’s like being funny. Everybody knows that we’re not funny when we’re trying to be.
So if I force s**t, it just never works. I end up frustrated and hating it. I need to let go and let the cosmic river take me where it sees fit.
Anyways, I’d earmarked today to get this latest issue finished. I was plenty social yesterday and Maggie’s with her mom and I got nothing else going on. I just wanted to be alone and channel my expressive side. Plus, I needed to make things a priority now and then or I won’t get them done. And I had early 80s music on and everything. The B-52s.
But the last 4-5 pages weren’t coming together. I was pushing crap around, rearranging content, deleting s**t. Forcing my artistic hand and nothing was working.
And then a thought came to me that wasn’t my own. Because I’m selfish and my best ideas are never mine.
I messaged Sara:
I don’t know if Hope is still with you or what your plans are until this evening, but if you wanted to hangout for an hour or two or whatever my magazine stuff can always wait.
We set up plans for a couple of hours later and then, because I got out of me and what I wanted, put someone else before all that, the stars aligned and everything fell into place. Those last pages of the magazine came together with little effort and little time. The universe spirit moved my hands to paint for me.
Okay, that was definitely corny but it’s true. When I be my best self, the best things happen to me. My magazine is more or less done and I get to see a beautiful girl.
And then Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran came on and life was complete.
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sadiebug92
· Aug 5, 2018 at 4:00 pm
Beautifully written. Love the honesty. ❤️
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tcr!
· Aug 5, 2018 at 4:41 pm
Thank you!!
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sadiebug92
· Aug 5, 2018 at 5:12 pm
You’re welcome :)
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Momma J
· Aug 5, 2018 at 6:06 pm
Sometimes just need to take a little pressure off the creativity part of us which of course is what you did. You might consider dropping in your magazine from monthly to bi-monthly?
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tcr!
· Aug 5, 2018 at 8:54 pm
I’ve thought about it but months are easy to keep track of 😊
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sara
· Aug 5, 2018 at 8:56 pm
No, we ate tacos and THEN life was complete. 💃
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Momma J
· Aug 5, 2018 at 8:58 pm
Love it!
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It’ll be when you notice that the someone who you’ve spent years of your life with is now gone. You’ve already grieved in the months since they left and now it’s been a few years and then you realize again, for no apparent reason, that they no longer live in the home you once shared.
And you’ll think about all those moments you let slip away when you could’ve held her hand but instead chose to be grumpy because he didn’t do the laundry that one time.
Yeah, that’ll suck. Maybe you’ll want to rewind the clock and postpone that twentieth fishing trip of the summer, but dude you can’t.
Remember that time you got pissy because you saw him looking out of the corner of his eye at a cute girl who walked by? Do you know why he did that? It wasn’t because he didn’t love you, it was because he’s human. And that’s what people do. If someone says they don’t look, they’re lying. So what if she’s checking out some hot guy that has more muscles than you. She chose you and that’s much bigger than any fleeting animal instinct.
Because after you’re done doing all the yard work for the weekend you’ll be looking around and admiring what a good job you did, but no one will be right there to share it with you. That person may have been laid to rest or they might just be on the other side of town but either way they’ll be gone. The neighbors won’t pat you on the back either. They’ll just be glad your dandelion forest has been cut down.
Sure, that might be a lovely castle you built for yourself but being a king or queen living alone is dreadful. And your new clip board won’t mean a f*****g thing.
Ask yourself what’s more important. Is it that the dishes are done or that you have someone to hold and love for the rest of your life? There will always be more dishes to do but there won’t always be somebody home.
It’ll be after 5 o’clock on a Saturday night and the only person you’ll have talked to is the Hispanic lady in the drive-through window at McDonald’s. And she’ll barely be able to speak English.
So go ahead and chase your dreams like Edmund did when he first climbed Mount Everest but after you’re done get your ass back to base camp and kiss the woman that kept your dinner warm. If you don’t have someone to share your triumphants with, what’s the point in having them?
And the next time that he’s watching some dumb documentary on the History channel about WWII technology, grab some couch and just be with him. Even if Panzer tanks do have you rolling your eyes. Don’t wait until the moment you walk by an empty couch with the TV off to figure out that you made a mistake and missed your chance for happily ever after.
And all those things you hold dear, that are oh so important, like emptying the cat litter or finishing that video game, they’re all inconsequential when paired against a living, breathing person who loves you.
And, on the off chance, that person is still with you now then hug them dearly.
People need time to grow into their best selves. You do, too. Enjoy the journey together. It’s not one you’ll want to make on your own.
--
PS- I normally stay away from writing in the “you" perspective but for this story it seemed fitting. Because it’s not all just about me.
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Wherein fate is for people who have given up, part 3 of 3.
I’m going to jump right in because this story is already long enough in my head. And it’s taken far too long to write. I’ve grown weary of fate and all that it doesn’t have to offer. I’m ready for closure.
So there’s this lady I kinda work with, helping with a project of hers. I get the feeling she got a few dysfunctional nuances about her. Most likely some anger management issues stoked by a little low self-esteem.
My heart goes out to her every now and then, when I see her socially wobbling. My own self-esteem has been a struggle for more of my life than I’d like to admit. So sometimes I want to give her a shoulder to lean on until she can find her balance. Watching people wrestle with and within themselves is heartbreaking.
But. When she turns and looks directly at me inflamed, raises her voice, then all bets are off and I stop caring if she’s a suffering human being. She kinda likes to fight. There’s an overly aggressive drive in her of sorts. One of her nuances. And when we argue it’s paramount that she wins. And that everybody knows she’s right. All along. Even if all evidence and witnesses are saying that she’s wrong.
I’m not interested in being right in the here and now. Or fighting. And she seems to need to do both. But fighting to be right is a fight no one will ever win. Everyone goes away a loser.
I cover up and brace for impact most days. What else am I to do when she comes charging in, other than take a defensive stance, preparing to fend off her oncoming assault? The answer is to pray, of course, to stay plugged into the cosmos so I’m walking a spiritual path before getting into the boxing ring. Pray beforehand for guidance rather than praying afterward for help. Prevent rather than correct kinda thing.
But it’s like, f**k I don’t want to have to do spiritual pushups each and every time prior to seeing this lady. I don’t ask the cosmos for guidance before I hang out with Sara or Maggie. When I’m with them everything just is. There’s no drama or stress. We hold hands out of love. We don’t take jabs at each other because the greater good of our relationship is more overall important than any one person. That’s how you both win.
Okay, so this is the point in the show where things get more specific. Up until now I’ve just been setting the stage for you avid readers.
Over the past few months she started taking a keen interest in my daily well being. Hourly well being as it came to be.
Between 9 and 10 AM she would send me a message and ask me how I was doing. And then I would say something like, “I’m doing good, working on your project.” I always tried to be professional and polite but I’m not going to engage more than superficially with someone whose goal is to be right. F**k that.
And then she got in the habit of sending me another message, around maybe 11:30 AM. Again, she would ask me how I was doing and I would respond that I was doing good. In my head I would say, “I’m doing just as good as when you asked me an hour ago.”
But wait, peeps! There’s more. She started messaging me in the afternoon, too. I s**t you not, this happened almost every workday. Three to four, “How you doing? How’s it going? All good?” type of messages.
It didn’t really even feel like she wanted to know how I was doing. Sometimes it felt like she thought she was being cool, doing finger guns, master of the universe s**t. Maybe she didn’t have anything better to do. Maybe it felt good for her to ask caring questions, take an interest in another human being because up until then she never really had.
Humans are complex creatures and our relationships with them can take place on many levels. It’s not always this factor that’s coming into play. Or that factor. Sometimes it’s a combination

Wherein fate has limits, part 2 of 3.
Toward the end of my drinking it was like treading water. Never going anywhere, not having any fun, just struggling to do the bare minimum to stay afloat. A soggy, pathetic, emotional mess.
I was well past my reckless youth, going out and getting into trouble, wrecking cars, being thrown in jail. Well past the padded room I chased an orderly out of with a safety pin. It was just me, the liquor, and myself. Paddling in a sea of cold air in a dark, damp basement.
I’m going to mix and match reality and imagination. Analogies and metaphors. Because that’s what you do when you’re me.
So to continue with the useless swimming metaphor, I would watch people up on the beach barbecuing, playing frisbee, soaking up sun rays. My family was there, too.
And there I was, what felt like miles away, growing physically tired of the repetitive stokes. And miserably alone. Really though, everybody was only a few feet away, just up and around the stairs.
A few years ago I used this same metaphor but in that story there was an anchor and a chain weighing me down. In the years since first writing of it I’ve change my mind. That rusty chain implied an external force that had me moored. But that’s not true. It was only me and my inner turmoil that kept me treading water on the futon.
Every now and then my ex-wife would tell me that I needed to come in from the water, be with them up on the beach. Sit with them. But I never listened. I couldn’t hear what she was saying over the water and my splashing. It was all too loud. It was all but impossible to listen. I couldn’t focus when I was drunk. My head sunburnt with hellfire hangovers. My eyes closed after my favorite sunglasses were washed away.
I would often think to myself, this is it. I’m not gonna die from exploding diving tanks in a fiery crash. I’m just going to be stuck here treading water, corroding over the decades. Because I can swim against the tides all I want but there’s no escape from the thrashing whirlpool, the sticky tarpit of fate.
And then maybe one day when I don’t have any strength left I’d just slip away. Lethally injected with alcoholic strychnine. In yet another metaphor. Poor me.
Anyways, one day in between waves (or days depending on your makeup) I’m spying my family up on the beach and then she starts packing up the car. I cried out in panicked silence as my insides unfroze.
“Holy s**t she’s really gonna leave. She’s not playing around this time. The trunk is open and she’s actually putting the picnic basket and s**t in there.”
And then I freaked. Swam to shore like a true Olympian. Like a flock of sharks were nipping at my toes. Whatever cosmic harpoon that had me tethered to myself had finally been cut.
When I reached the sand and the shore and the safety of solid ground, dear lord, the panic didn’t stop. It multiplied. In color. I hadn’t done the whole sober living thing since 152nd Street. And I sucked at it.
So I ran up and down the beach like my hair was on fire in a full blown, year-plus-long panic attack. Being out of the water and on my feet was messy. My eyes needed to adjust, my fingers needed to dry out. I needed to catch my breath.
And then I got a new futon. Because the old one had been torpedoed to death. With b******t.
So I guess my point to this story is that when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change, we will swim for our lives. Fate be damned.
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Momma J
· Jul 12, 2018 at 2:13 pm
So glad you made the choice to swim
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tcr!
· Jul 12, 2018 at 2:31 pm
Me, too!
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So this past weekend I pulled into the gas station to get some supplies. It’s the weekend and it’s sunny so the gas station is plum full of cars. I pull up close to the building in an empty spot. It wasn’t an official parking spot but gas stations are free-for-alls when they’re busy. One guy had even parked right in front of entrance to the gas station so whatever.
I go in and get my supplies, wait in line for 10 minutes while Aunt Loretta picks out her Powerball numbers. My favorite thing.
Also, before I say anymore, don’t make this about you. Because it’s not.
I come back out, get in my truck, and am getting ready to leave when a guy, a big dude, tries to squeeze in between my truck and the gas station. Of course he could’ve easily walked around on the other side but no, he chose to squeeze through the narrow corridor between my truck and the station.
There wasn’t even a sidewalk there for crying out loud. Well, there was but nobody could walk on it with the ice machine, firewood, stacks of blue washer fluids taking all the walkway real estate.
So I’m sitting there close enough to literally touch him as he shimmies by. About a foot past my driver side window he starts shaking his head in what I can only assume to be judgmental disbelief that I had the ABSOLUTE NERVE to park where I did.
S**t like that gets on my nerves like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t do well when people judge me for situations they put themselves in to begin with. Like I’m somehow at fault because he couldnt squeeze his 600 pound life through the two foot gap I left.
So then I yell out in all of my spiritual glory, “F**K YOU” loud enough for anybody within a 10 block radius to hear.
He doesn’t turn around but instead continues toward the gas station door.
And then I realize that wasn’t another of my finest moments.
PS- I want to stress that I see this as something along the lines of me going into the Big and Tall stores and then shaking my head because nothing on the racks is in my size.
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Wherein fate is a miserable state, part 1 of 3.
Rivers want to roll downhill. You can put a dam up and stop their flow but their destination won’t change. They all dump into the sea. And eventually your dam will give out and then you or somebody else will build another dam but yet, still the river flows downhill. With all man’s technological marvel, water is what it is.
That’s abstract and non-personal but also a good pre-game show.
Because then there was that one time we were leaving a neighborhood Christmas party. As I’m walking down the sidewalk with family in tow, I slipped and fell on a patch of ice. I saw it coming like a slow motion horror flick. Time slowed to a near stand still and the whole audience screamed, “don’t go down there!!” But then I kept going toward certain doom anyway and gravity did its thing.
There’s nothing you can do about gravity. It’s the Terminator that can’t be talked to or reasoned with. It will always be there. Pulling you down. Because that’s what it does. Gravity has only one job and it never fails. It never quits.
Even though I tried to be as careful as I could I still went crashing down on the frozen, slippery sidewalk. In front of the everybody. Just as they all knew I would. I felt as if everybody but me expected me to fall. Because I had it coming. It was in my cards.
That’s how I see fate. A piece of s**t gravitational, cosmic force and it’s coming for you. It won’t let you down and does exactly what it’s supposed to do. Good luck cheating it. Because you won’t. Nobody can.
Fate’s never been anything good to me. Never thought of fate as having a positive outcome. Maybe that’s my true nature of pessimism shining through regardless of how many pictures of sunsets and flowers I take. Underneath the cosmic candy coating is a thread, not vindictive, but menancing inevitable.
A distant dead end terminal that's only getting closer. And then I’m riding the runaway train. That’s going to derail when it smashes into the concrete wall of fate. And I’m the engineer who can’t do anything but watch in horror. Feel the momentum and the chugging that keeps me off balance as I’m unwillingly whisked away to the last stop.
I can only know that the crash is coming. It’s for certain. It’s just fate. There’s no getting off and there’s no stopping the wheels. They’ve always been in motion. The engine’s supercharged and the brakes are out. Fate’s seatbelts are fastened and I can struggle all I like but too bad, I’m stuck in this seat.
Along the same lines, the calendar says biblical armageddon up ahead, around the bend. And there ain’t s**t anybody can do. History’s already been written and the words read rapture. And I’ve never been good with religion. So I’m f****d. I’ve never measured up anyway and according to fate, I never will. It’s already been decided. The scripture’s ink is dry and red. One cannot unwrite or undo fate. There’s no redos and you only get one shot. Plus you didn’t even draw the arrow or take the aim.
Just like time, fate wants to happen. In the sci-fi shows I watch where the characters time travel they generally have this as a central and understood theme: changing the course of history is all for naught. Because even if they do something different, events happen anyway. The end result is still now and will always be the same.
And if possibly, on the off chance, someone does alter the timeline to cheat and beat fate then the cosmos is pissed and things far worse unfold. Nice try. But no.
My interest in time travel, physics, and the like is not because I want to unlock the mysteries of the universe, but because I want to unlock the door, disengage the bolt that holds my fate in place. To feel confident that one day I’ll walk past the ice without falling.
Unfortunately what I feel[1] n

Based on my scientific observations and the data I’ve collected as of late, I’ve found that I eat more when I’m happy. When I’m stressed I don’t want to eat at all.
Now then, please note that I’ve gained 37 pounds over the last two months.
In related news, I don’t know why I wear white. Because then everybody knows what I’ve been eating.
So the interesting part of this story. While I was amusing myself with my formula on the drive to work, a feeling came blurting its way into my scientific stream of thought:
“Now, since this is all over, you can finally have your way.”
I don’t know why that thought came barging in, it just did. S**t bubbles to the surface for no apparent reason. And this time I was like “wow” since it was so far removed from what I’d previously been thinking and I immediately recognized it as residue.
Feel the emotions and let them go. I bet 99% of the time there isn't a reason as to why we have them.
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asquared01
· Jul 2, 2018 at 2:59 pm
Same here! If I’m upset/stressed, I don’t eat.
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The thing that I had a hard time wrapping my mind around with Anthony Bourdain's suicide is that I kept thinking he was supposed to be above all of that. I wanted not to be surprised but I really was. I felt let down at first regardless of what I said.
I don’t have the kind of heroes or as many of them as I did when I was a teenager but Bourdain may have been the closest thing I had to a celebrity hero as a grown-up.
From the time he was a teenager, through his 20s and 30s, on into his 40s and 50s, and then even in his 60s I admired and respected his different phases and who he ended up as a human being.
With his death I kept thinking annoyed, “you don’t give up.”
When people lose their hope it can sometimes rub off on us. There’s nothing good enough out there to look forward to kinda thing. When the future’s not bright and the struggles of everyday are too much then what’s the point?
I never saw Bourdain as wondering what the point was though. Or running out of hope. But then again I only saw what made it into his TV shows.
Kinda sucks that real-life heroes are only humans, too.
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fleming
· Jun 25, 2018 at 10:42 am
I loved Bourdain, too, watched him throughout the years, and always thought he had such sad eyes, like he was carrying the weight of the world. After periodically reading he suffered from depression, alcoholism and heroin addiction, this sadness made sense to me. I also read he had relapsed with the heroin and that broke my heart, but I understand when the last vestiges of hope are gone and the pain is so overwhelming, death seems to be the only option for relief. I am so sad he is gone, but will never…as some will say…will never call him a coward or selfish. Imagine the pain he must have suffered to resort to suicide, and feel only loss and sympathy.
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DeeDee
· Jun 25, 2018 at 11:15 am
I luv him too!
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erin
· Jun 25, 2018 at 11:51 am
He keeps showing up in my dreams but I am not sure what he is there to teach me.
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tcr!
· Jun 25, 2018 at 4:53 pm
Well, my take is that I know you you’re a traveler and I know that you love good food so my guess would be that you’re to write a cookbook.
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erin
· Jun 27, 2018 at 12:34 am
Anthony Hopkins made an appearance last night so I am leaning away from cookbook. #truestory #benadryl
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elaineorr
· Jun 25, 2018 at 11:56 am
Maybe what we learn is that when we ask someone how they are they they say, “Having a bad day,” or even “so-so,” we need to ask, “What’s going on with you?” or “How can I help?”
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prokop
· Jun 25, 2018 at 4:44 pm
I felt the same. It’s just so sad.
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Not long ago I was reading an article wherein the author said that people aren’t going to care about what you’re doing. Like if I plant a wonderful garden people aren’t going to come from miles around to see it. They won’t throw flowers and shower me with attention.
Unless I’m a celebrity gardener, nobody will care.
How the author believed it did work was like this: if I care about you and your garden then you in turn will care about me and my garden. Of course there’s no black and white rule that you can apply to all people or all situations but I do think there’s a lot to be said for me caring about you and you reciprocating.
All the people that subscribe to my magazine, I’ve established relationships with them. Showed a true interest in them as human beings. And not because I want them to subscribe but because I legitimately care about them and their lives. Because people can smell a rat.
I don’t want to go off on a ratty tangent but I do know that my life is much bigger, much more meaningful when I get to experience another person’s sorrow and happiness. And as a bonus I get to have people care about me and my pursuits. Humans are special. Valuable creatures. If I want to be treated as such then I better do my part.
It’s not always easy to stop and listen to what people are saying when we have plates in the air spinning but what I’ve found is that being there for another’s triumphants becomes so much more fulfilling than experiencing mine own.
Okay, I’d like to think myself all that and a bag of chips but I’m not that spiritual. I don’t fully engage all the time with everyone else’s wins.
However, when I do life is pretty good. Another's joy will lift up my soul and foster my own creativity. My struggles aren’t that impossible and my plates don’t spin nearly as fast.
And if the china falls, whatever.
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Karly
· Jun 22, 2018 at 9:58 am
You had me until that last line. Replace “whatever” with primal scream and all out panic….and then I’m back in. Lol
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tcr!
· Jun 22, 2018 at 10:18 am
That’s funny. I like to use examples like breaking china because they make me uncomfortable with the thought of them actually happening.
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So I have this thing that I’ve been doing ever since I was a teenager. It’s not a healthy thing and I’ve struggled to let go of it ever since I stopped drinking.
Most of the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it until after I’ve already done it.
In the last several weeks I realized just how bad the behavior is. How it takes me out of the moment and distracts me from all that I have and all that's truly important.
So I've paying attention in life and seek not to put myself in the situations that prompt my bad behavior in the first place. And I pray for graceful nudges to keep me on the right spiritual path. Me being who I am, it's all too easy for me to wander off on a self-seeking tangent.
And I’m proud to say that I’ve done fairly well at not doing it.
What is it you may be wondering? That is another very good question but it doesn’t matter.
Anyways, what really sparked my attention to this behavior is that I had somebody do the same thing to me recently. After I’d been doing my best not to do it. And it didn’t feel good. It was a real eye-opener of just how bad it can be when you’re on the receiving end. Karma defined if you will.
And then in related news, what the real story is, is when Sara told me that she didn’t believe in karma.
The notion that karma is false hasn't left since. Maybe karma is dogma, a made up law to keep people in line for fear of cosmic reprisal.
And then I thought that Sara's most likely a spiritual revolutionary.
Karma keeps me out of the moment, keeps me waiting for yesterday's falling dominoes to finally catch up and knock me down in the present. It feeds my suspicion and keeps me thinking that I don't deserve nice things. Because of the bad things I've done.
Karma also gives us a reason "why" and typically that's never important. To our internal struggles.
What is important is me being the best me that I can be. In the here and now.
#photos #robots #advancedsoul 🤔 #diariespodcast support the show →
Momma J
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:14 am
Please tell us what Behavior you are referring to!!
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tcr!
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:17 am
Irrelevant :)
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jimi hindrance experience
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:18 am
It doesn’t matter.
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Momma J
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:19 am
Not irrelevant to me, your mother!
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Momma J
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:20 am
Hi Jimi - it matters to me, his mother!
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jimi hindrance experience
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:28 am
Ok. We’re both pretty sure it wasn’t anything monstrous. I doubt he’s capable of anything our imaginations can conjure. I’m on your side, Jeanie. :)
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Hater McGhray
· Jun 20, 2018 at 10:31 am
What did you do to those dolls?
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heather
· Jun 20, 2018 at 2:13 pm
I bet it’s picking your nose
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tcr!
· Jun 20, 2018 at 5:04 pm
Close
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ExplicitReich Between the Eyes on the Wolfenstein II: The New Colossus soundtrack

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8BxgZYjya8
Peeps, the soundtrack for Wolfenstein II: The New Colossus was released today digitally. I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for it just as I have. I’ve only listened to the first five songs but it’ll punch you in the teeth for sure. If you’re into that.
Reich Between the Eyes will be one song I’ll never listen to while driving for sure. I can feel the road rage amplifying already.
Also, Bethesda put the whole album up as one animated still on YouTube if you need it. Two and a half hours of solid Wolfenstein hard hitting velocity.
The next time I’m angry cleaning I’m just going to throw the latter up on my family room TV and get to it.
And lastly, while I've been waiting for the Wolfenstein and Tomb Raider sequels, I've been playing way too much Fallout 4.
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How about they go the speed limit? Or obey the traffic signals? Or decide if they’re going to be on the street or the sidewalk?
I ride my bike as much as anybody. Okay, that’s not true. I have a bike in my garage and I’ve only ridden a few times this year.
But I’ve seen the guy at Sammy’s Bikes race around town, blow through stop signs, make wild ass turns without warning, weave around cars, all like he’s in a race to win the World Cup.
When I do ride my bike if I’m on the sidewalk then I act like a pedestrian. And if I’m on the street I act like a car. I stop at stop signs even if nobody’s around.
I do my best to follow the laws in either case. Because I believe in the greater good.
Yes, I still protest in my garage but I’m not a big fan of anarchy in the streets. I’m much more interested in communal well-being than getting my rocks off on my 10 speed.
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I set up an auto-renew feature on a client’s website not long ago so members could check a box and have their member account renewed each year. It’s a win-win for the client and the member since neither would need to do anything. The client would collect their membership dues and the member would have uninterrupted access to the site. Hurray!
However. When the first member selected the option their credit card was charged twice. And then of course it happened to the second member.
After each duplicate charge I thoroughly reviewed my code to see what was going wrong and for the life of me I couldn’t figure it out. I was even tempted to just disable the feature and not tell anybody. But that wouldn’t be the right thing to do even if it did solve the problem from my end. I ended up telling the website to send me emails anytime anything happened with the auto-renewals.
This morning I got up after only sleeping six or so hours and I saw a handful of emails from the site. Of course the latest member had two charges on their credit card. Again. It’s one thing to screw something up and look like an idiot. It’s something else to look like an idiot and bill a client’s member an extra $125.
When I’m tired I don’t have much patience. I’m easily frustrated and it doesn’t take long for me to give up on life. And maybe yell at the cat because she wants her breakfast.
But often times giving up is exactly what we’re supposed to do. When we can't see the flowers for the leaves.
Let go and stop trying to fix and manage and control things that we’re not suppose to. Let go of the mess we’ve made of things. Being full of imperfection, it’s a given that we’ll screw things up. And it’s totally cool to say “I made a huge mess and I need help cleaning it up.”
So then after I was at my wit’s end and I remembered I need to give up in life, I prayed. I asked the cosmos for help and guidance in fixing a huge problem I created.
After we let go we’re set free. Free to see things how they really are. Clarity won’t come when I’m frustrated and unhinged. It comes when I have a clear mind and a positive outlook. When I’m anchored to a spiritual rock. I need to find harmony inside and out if I want to move forward when I’m stuck.
Society won’t often reward us for admitting defeat or being vulnerable or saying I f****d this up. Especially in the corporate/business world.
But when I am those things regardless of my circumstances or environment, I’m rewarded with tranquility and contentment on the cosmic scale. Sometimes I even get a steel blue striped donut.
Anyways, here’s the email conversation I had with the client after I went to work and spent less than half an hour on finding and fixing the auto renewals bug.
Hi CLIENT,
I deeply regret to say that these duplicate charges have been my fault.
After reviewing all the code again this morning I see that PayPal lets you set the recurring charge amount and then also an initial charge amount for auto renewals. I had set an initial charge because I misunderstood PayPal’s documentation to mean that would be the first charge.
In any account I’ve removed the initial charge amount and I’m really hoping, crossing my fingers it puts this issue to bed once and for all.
Again, my most humble apologies for the headaches.
Well I am glad to hear you found the solution to the issue. No worries, at least it is taken care of.
Thanks,
CLIENT
PS- Most people won’t argue with you when you admit you’re wrong or made a mistake. They just want to get on with their life, too.
PS2- After I wrote this I was looking around work for a photo to go with it. And then I went outside for a few minutes because it's sunny and I like sunny. The cosmos gifted me with the perfect image. Serendipity, peeps.
#photos #flowers #advancedsoul #diariespodcas

I was talking with one of my friends several months ago and I brought up something that sounded an alarm in her. What I’d just touched on triggered an unhappiness almost like ripping someone’s blanket off on a chilly night when they’re sound asleep.
I don’t know who first used the blanket analogy but I love it so much that it works its way into the things I write.
But anyways, you f**k people up and you won’t be able to take that s**t back.
It’s unfortunate that I can’t be my best self with certain people because of the torrid history between us. Even though I can forgive people, there can be so much damage in the past that it forever influences the present. And then also, the future will be permanently stained.
Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true, that relationships can “never recover” but both people really have to want it. They have to fill the present with astounding moments and create a backlog that more than rivals the historical damage of the past.
What I’ve seen, more often than not, is that people can never get there. At least not both of them.
And sometimes it seems like you just run out of time.
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On this morning, the 11th of June I was greeted with a squeaky chipmunk in the basement just as I sat down with my first cup of coffee. It filled my heart with joy as the two H-Ks (hunter killers) and a lone chipmunk played a frantic game of animal tag.
A frenzied game of hide and seek if you will. Where if you lose needly claws hooked to hair trigger tendons pulled by honed muscles will rip into your hide and not too often let go. You'll be lucky and kiss your mother if you narrowly escape with only a minor puncture wound.
Ah yes, the screams of blood filled, animal murder first thing in the morning.
And then as I'm putting the basement things back in order after I've caught and released the chipmunk, I hear Pearl in her litter box taking a s**t. All the excitement and exercise must've got her bowels working.
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Every time the geese hold up traffic on Riverside for more than five seconds, 50 cars deep pile up in both directions. I just want to punch them in the face. Every last one. The geese and the cars.
Also: don’t wave to people while they’re out with their dog and the dog is taking a poop. It’ll make them uncomfortable. Both the person and the dog.
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One time when I was eight or so I was out in the front yard washing my bike with the hose. I especially liked spraying the pedals and watching them spin out of control. My bikes have been near and dear to me ever since I learned how to ride and I took great pride in washing this one since it was my first main bike.
My oldest brother, who is eight years older, came home during my wash cycle with a carload of his friends. They were all teenagers and way cool in their rock band t-shirts and long hair.
I always wanted to be around them but that never happened much during the Allison Avenue era. I was still playing with my Star Wars guys and they out were out driving around, smoking cigarettes, and whatever. But just having an older brother part of the fight club was good enough to make me feel part of something cool.
While my six foot tall brother was walking up the driveway he said to me and my bike, “you can’t polish a turd.”
Nice 🙄
I just stood there, unable to retaliate, not even knowing how. Scorn like that is how someone goes from innocently washing their bike to someone who is suspicious by default. Because that’s how you demolish someone.
That brother was often relentless with his taunting and ridicule. Even worse is that he had the real capacity to be charming and loving but then that was always heavily salted with his hellfire and damnation.
He may have just been giving me a hard time as older brothers do.[1] But then again, It was really much more than that. When he was around it was a psychotic war zone. Bombs could drop any minute so I lived on edge during during the times of peace. One minute we’d be laughing it up in front of the tube and then when I wasn’t paying attention he’d snap me with one of them big red rubber bands. I could think up a bunch of horror stories but I don’t want to.
Anyways, time went by as it does and we both grew as people, evolved into more than who we’d always been. We even lived together for a few years in the 90s. Rented a house, being 20 somethings and all, getting on with our lives.
One sunny 90s morning I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom strumming my acoustic while my girlfriend, Kathy, was laying on the bed doing her own thing. And then he came into the bedroom and in one sentence belittled my guitar skills.
I don’t remember exactly what he said because I was instantly pissed. Shaming me in front of my girlfriend had made me so angry I couldn’t even talk. Not to mention that I was a far better guitar player than he was. Of course, he wasn’t really saying that I wasn’t a good musician, he was simply putting me down in order to prop himself up.
And that particular time I don’t think it was simple ribbing, not from his tone and plus it was in front of Kathy. And she was pretty cute. And I wanted to trust him around her but I didn’t. He wasn’t a saint in that arena either.
Pausing and looking back again, trying to see him as a fundamentally good human being, maybe, possibly he was just giving me a hard time. He may have even felt that he took it too far that time based on my reaction. I don’t know.
What I do know is that both of those public shamings are still with me. I remember holding my flattop guitar and holding the garden hose with him looming over me both times, using his words to cut me.
In 2013 Maggie and I saw him for a couple of hours. We were on a weekend getaway and he was living less than an hour from where we were staying. I wanted to put all the past behind us. I wanted Maggie to know the person who I would often share good stories about. And while we were there sitting in the park and Maggie swang he gave me a honorable apology, said that he was never the older brother that he should’ve been. I’ve told that story before.
But scorpions are scorpions.
I hate to be pessimistic but I have a hard time beli

And then there was that one time in 2006 when my brother and I drove halfway across the country in a U-Haul the size of Montana, pulling the Kia on a trailer. We were on an epic journey, moving from the state of Oregon to the state of Illinois.
One particular night in Wyoming we were ready to call it good for the day, might’ve been around 11:30 pm. My brother insisted we get off on the next exit and look for a hotel. He was ready to get his drink on and that didn’t sound half bad to me either.
We found a “hotel two blocks away” sign and headed in that direction. When we got there I slowed way down to scope out the lodging grounds. The motel was less than desirable. The sign was only a quarter lit, the parking lot crumbling, there were air conditions hanging out of the windows. And one of the room doors was open.
My brother said to me, “Hell son, yer bed probably already warm for ya.”
“Fuuuck no” I said as I eased the gas pedal down and we rolled past whatever Deliverance Inn we’d came across. Last thing I want is for somebody to be watching TV when I get into my hotel room.
PS- I don't remember where we were when I took the photo shown. I think Nebraska. Maybe not. I think I was all done taking pictures by then.
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Momma J
· Jun 5, 2018 at 4:15 pm
Tell the story about the map in Chicago
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Kris
· Jun 5, 2018 at 7:17 pm
Deliverance Inn. You come up with the best terminogies.
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tcr!
· Jun 6, 2018 at 9:46 am
Thanks! :) That’s pretty much what that hotel was, too.
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Karly
· Jun 6, 2018 at 8:11 am
And all I can focus on is whether or not it really is Nebraska… I need to know the answer!
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tcr!
· Jun 6, 2018 at 9:47 am
It may have been farther west. Thinking back I was pretty much done taking pictures after the first day or so.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UD0c58nNCQ
Do you ever wanna say, "f**k this workday" and then turn off your computer and give your nearest co-worker a high-five as you storm out the office door, then slide down the stairwell railing and hop in your car, then drive to Home Goods and get that stainless steel spatula you've had your eye on for the last two months, and then stop at the petshop and pick out a pair of award winning pups?
Then get an email alert on your work phone and throw the piece of s**t out the passenger window, frisbee style while driving with your knees, the silverly spatula twinkling in your left hand and the fuzzy doggos under your right arm, all the while Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty's Stop Draggin' My Heart Around is blaring from your car stereo?
I thought so.
"Yeah, you buckle with the weight of the words."
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Alcoholics can related to this. I’m not sure if others will...
But one of the things that made it so easy for me to continue drinking was that I never had any real consequences. I never was in jail for more than a day or so, the bank never threatened to take my house. My jobs were always more than supportive and somehow I still have all my fingers and toes.
It’s not that I didn’t think about the consequences. I could think about them all day long, but if it were in my head that I was gonna drink, there was simply no stopping me. I didn’t resist at all. There was no debate, no trying to convince myself it was the wrong thing to do. I never tried to talk myself out of it. All of that internal yammering was too painful and willpower is nonexistent when I’m drinking. It was easier to just give in, give up, quit fighting a fight I’d never win.
Even just the “knowing” that I was going to drink gave me instant relief. Like pouring water over an Alka-Seltzer tablet. That immediate, fizzy, bubbly chemical reaction — that’s the uplifting, scientific relief I felt whenever I gave in to alcoholism.
A counselor told me once that I should “play the tape all the way through,” meaning that before I started drinking to stop and think about what would happen from start to finish.
Erm. That’s not how alcoholics do. We don’t have forethought before drinking or willpower when drinking. Consequences are irrelevant. We only see the next drink and never the dominoes falling down afterward.
Seriously, when it comes to drinking my thought process is this: I’m gonna get drunk and I don’t care what happens. My house burns down? Good, now I won’t have to pay the mortgage and will have one less responsibility. That may sound ludicrous but that’s the kind of disconnect I’m talking about here.
Yeah, life could taunt me with blackouts, jails, whatever but none of it mattered once the drink was on or even the decision to drink was made. I was at peace and nothing could touch me.
...
And then there was that one time I walked into the liquor store door. Like I walked up to and in to the door. And then bounced backward off the glass because it was the exit and it automatically opened for people leaving. I’d like to say that it was a simple mistake but really I was pretty much lit from head to toe.
The whole door wobbled and complained during our encounter. I’d also like to say that I was filled with shame but any embarrassment was muffled by my drunkenness. Because drunkenness is like a wet blanket over the fire, a soggy forcefield that keeps the inferno of reality from being real.
So after solving the automatic door riddle and making it inside, two cashiers and a customer were staring at me with slight alarm. I ignored their stares and made straight for my aisle, as fast as I could while maintaining my composure and balance. Only momentum kept me walking in a semi-straight line.
And then back at the checkout aisle one cashier was still around. He was an older, taller guy wearing concern on his face. Like he wanted to say something, to ask me if I was okay because I obviously wasn’t. I wasn’t fit to be walking let alone driving.
But he didn’t say anything. I’m sure it was because working in a liquor store he’d seen the likes of my kind before and learned the last thing you wanna do is confront an alcoholic when they’re drunk and after more. That’s like poking a bear after his honey.
I don’t remember what I bought from the liquor store that day, only that I made an ass out of myself and was too drunk to know it at the time.
Anyways, see: no consequences. I have a grab bag full of stories just like this where there weren’t any consequences for my actions. Almost always nothing happened other than I got drunk. I was rarely even scolded.
...
But wait. There were consequences even if I

I was telling Sara last night about the time I was in a grocery store and they had 12 packs of my favorite soda. Unfortunately I couldn’t buy just one, the man was sticking it to me (and the world) by forcing me to buy all 12.
So I did what any teenage anarchist would do. I ripped opened the box and pulled out just one can of my favorite soda.
Delighted with myself I took le single can of soda up to the checkout aisle and fetched a crisp one dollar bill from my wallet, feeling confident that would more than cover the cost.
However, when the checkout guy in his maroon apron tried to scan the barcode it failed two or three times. He then gave me a puzzled look and asked me where I had found this particular can. I told him that I got it outta a box in the soda aisle.
His bepuzzlement quickly turned to annoyance and he firmly let me know that I couldn’t do that. The cans weren’t marked for individual sale and therefore wouldn’t be in his system.
Avid readers, that was the day I learned the customer is not always right.
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And on this 18th day of May nature said lettuce have more flowers, specifically the saturated, colorful clematis. And the peeps of the world drew in a beautiful breath and embraced the brilliance.
And then on a related note the man said, “If life is fleeting then that is irrelevant. In this minute let life’s focal point be the vibrancy.”
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jimi hindrance experience
· May 18, 2018 at 9:45 am
Holy s**t, who is the author of that bleat?
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tcr!
· May 18, 2018 at 9:54 am
Alas, the man was me :)
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tcr!
· May 18, 2018 at 9:55 am
Because I like lettuce
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jimi hindrance experience
· May 19, 2018 at 12:09 am
That colorful clematis ain’t bad neither
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I talk about my dentist now and then because he and his staff are part of my life. And I talk about what’s going on that's had some kind of impact on me. Granted, sometimes I talk about s**t that doesn’t have an impact but whatever.
So anyways awhile back my dentist said he wanted me to use a water flosser to get below the gum line. I brush my teeth and use floss picks because that’s what I do but obviously if he said I should use the Waterpik® then what I do is not enough.
Mostly I’m open to other people’s ideas. I’ve learned that I don’t have all the answers so I picked one up on Amazon and then after I got it, I tried it a few times but always ended up making a huge mess. The pick would be spraying all over the mirror, all over the walls. Water would be in my eyes and ears. The cats would be floating by on their inner tubes. I’m not even kidding.
It was like I had a firehose in my mouth and all that turned into too much chaos for me to deal with. Right before bed is when I’ve always brushed my teeth and having a waterpark in my bathroom when I’m winding down the day is not something I have the patience for.
And then of course every time I go to see my dentist he’d ask me if I’d been using the Waterpik and I’d be like, “well kinda sorta, not really.” A couple of times he’d be kind stern and on my case[1] and that never sits well with me. I seem to have an aversion to people bossing me around. If someone tells me to do something then my standard response is “no, I don’t think so.”
And then of course we got cheated in the teeth department. I mean really, sharks get new teeth all the time and here I am stuck with the same teeth I've had since I was 10. That’s b******t. But sharks are beside the point.
The last time I went to see my dentist we had our typical conversation about the Waterpik and I was fully expecting the hand of judgement to come crashing down. But this time was different. He said that he’d personally just made it part of his routine. He wasn’t telling me something that I needed to do but was instead telling me something he had done for himself.
And I do better when I hear things phrased like that. I admire and respect my dentist so if that’s what he had done, make it part of his routine, then that’s what I wanted to do, too.
I just needed to figure out how. How without my next Amazon purchase being a scuba suit.
Here's the real story: when I became open to the idea of change it quietly occurred to me that I could brush my teeth and use the Waterpik firehose earlier in the day. Instead of right before bed when I’m tired and just want to go to sleep.
So now I brush my teeth, use my Waterpik, gargle with peroxide mix, and all that razzle-dazzle right when I get home from work. Instead of fighting against something that wasn’t working I found a different way that would work. If I'm frustrated then that’s a sign that I need to "pause, pray, and proceed." Take a step back and solve whatever problem by another means. Even with something as simple as all of this.[2]
And then this whole affair became all too easy. It’s part of my daily routine now. Using the Waterpik after work I wasn’t tired and had the patience to figure out how to actually use it without turning my bathroom into a carwash. I still brush my teeth right before bed, too, so now I’m up to brushing 2-3 times a day. I'm practically a dentist myself.
I’m pretty grateful that I can be flexible today. That I can let go of the rigidity of this is how I do things because this is how I’ve always done them. Dogma is b******t. Even more so when I enforce or inflict it upon myself.
If I want what I've always had then all I need to do is what I’ve always done. But if I want something more maybe I should try something new.
Also, if you need a dentist mine is great. His whole st

I haven't recorded any podcasts for a bit but I have every intention of soon, with intention being the keyword.
In the meantime please enjoy a song I recorded some time in the early 2000s.
I suppose once in a while I close my eyes while I'm on trial.Feel alive with my crocodile, shun their world and rest my smile.
Porno looks better than it has to feel.
Maybe you should lay down and die inside.I'll never go out because I'm not in style.
Porno looks better than it has to feel.
I only miss the past, the days I wished away.The times that never seemed to last.Roll over, instant scab.
Alias: graham sexton
Title: my crocodile
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For whatever reason the Chicago Tribune left newspapers on my sidewalk for three days in a row. I like that because reading the paper from start to finish broadens my horizons. I come across articles and the like that I wouldn’t have sought out on my own.
Like this particular Dear Abby-ish piece about a couple that was having a fundraiser with the funds coming from a cash bar. Another couple had shown up with their own wine and proceeded to drink out in the yard or something.
So then the columnist’s advice was to just bluntly ask them about it.
“Daisy and Tom, we found a pile of wine bottles on the lawn near your car, and I think they came from you and your guests. What’s up with that?”
The thing I like most about this was the such few words the columnist offered to the person who wrote in. It wasn’t War and Peace, it was two sentences.
“Here’s what you did that upset me. Why did you do that?”
When I have something to say to someone about something they’ve done I can get nervous. And when I get nervous I can talk too much. And talking too much dilutes and pollutes what I’m trying to say. Those extra words make the conversation harder than it needs to be.
Emotionally tip-toeing around the subject can put me on the defensive with an aggressive person. It can give them the upper hand since the spotlight is on me and my nervousness instead of on them for what they did in the first place.
Confrontation isn’t easy for passive people like me. I regularly deal with a guy who’s consistently combative, who’s in it to win. Well, he’s in it to be right. At all costs. Whenever he gets a chance to be “right” he stomps the gas, squeals and smokes his tires, and barrels ahead full throttle. He swerves all over the road with pure emotional adrenaline fueling his words and actions.
I’m not a fan of funny cars so I do my best to diffuse those situations with objective facts. Because I don’t care about being right anymore. I care about having great relationships with people. If I’m wrong, so be it. Me saying that I’m wrong let’s me have those phenomenal relationships. Me saying that I’m right when I’m obviously not only makes us both lose.
But back to my point. Me calling people out has never been my strong suit. I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable. I want other people to feel safe and I want to feel safe as well.
And then the cosmos goes and puts me in situations that make me uncomfortable, to teach me things I need to learn. And often it seems as if those same lessons come up again and again until I do get comfortable with them.
The good news is that when I need to confront someone, I don’t need to minimize or maximize what they've actually done. I just need to be clear, concise, and direct. Just like the columnist suggested. It made me feel good reading her article, too, to be reminded again that this struggle is real for a lot of people and not just me.
In related news: when I’m done writing what I try to do is go back and take out all the b******t, all the fluff[1] that gets in the way of what I’m trying to say. Because I over complicate. I want to talk about this and then I want to talk about that and then there’s this other thing that I want to say. Really though, it’s about condensing what I’m trying to say so people understand.
Confrontation is in the same realm. What is it that I need to say? Once I figure that out then all that’s left for me to do is say it.
I tell this Microsoft story now and then because it gave me a little spiritual insight. It changed everything.
One afternoon I overheard a conversation between a sales guy and his boss. The salesman had had a hard conversation with a customer and it frazzled him. He was still upset when replaying the conversation to his boss. The boss said to him plain and simple, “you need to take

While I was sitting with my nicotine withdrawal earlier, I was saying my morning prayers, asking god to take my nicotine addiction away, take all the pain and discomfort. And then I started to get crabby because these withdrawals have been going on for well over a month. F*****g Greg.
And then I kind of scolded myself, “God’s got nothing to do with this.”
My nicotine withdrawal is the consequence of decades of smoking. My smoking. No amount of praying is going to take that physical pain away. Sure, the cosmos can give us everything we need to make it through our struggles but we still have to deal with any b******t that we've created.
And then I think, “haven’t I suffered with this enough?”
And then I think again, “no, karma is fair and balanced.”
Karma doesn’t torture us. We do.
Sometimes I think that I struggle more than I should, though. I can and do make life harder than it needs to be. I'm just not good at it. I know how to make crazy. Because it's my go to.
And then I was thinking of what Scott Peck wrote in the late 70s:
Life is difficult.
Nothing else stood out in The Road Less Traveled more to me than that. Not that I’m on the same cosmic level as him but I think it would’ve been more appropriate to say that “life is balanced.” He may have wrote that, too, but I don’t remember.
Sure, life is hard and full of struggles but it’s absolutely magnificent, too.
Just living can be frustrating, disappointing, aggravating but it’s also fulfilling, magical, and surreally spectacular.
So what to do when I’m annoyed with myself and the mess I’ve made? When there’s nothing left for me to do on my end? I stop thinking about me and my horrors and look around to see what else is going on. What’s good happening in the cosmos?
Because even when the sky is gray and the air rainy, the world is beautifully overflowing with sweet Jesus goodness. It’s got flowers and everything.
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fiatlux423
· May 3, 2018 at 10:38 am
“F*****g Greg” is the new “Thanks Obama.”
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tcr!
· May 3, 2018 at 10:39 am
Yep. I even say it when I’m by myself.
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Hater McGhray
· May 3, 2018 at 11:07 am
Haha yep!
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tcr!
· May 3, 2018 at 3:23 pm
It’s got a nice ring to it
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Kelly K
· May 3, 2018 at 5:53 pm
Who’s Greg?
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tcr!
· May 3, 2018 at 6:20 pm
Who is Greg you might ask? That is a very good question.
Greg is Norwegian. A simple man with locks of gold and a mustache to match. Muscles toned and tanned to a reddish brown. The women adore him and his fanny pack of Caesar spiced croutons. His wit is quick and his axe is sharp yet his heart is as pure as the Newfoundland snow.
He often can be seen wearing only but knee-high leather boots, the best Corinthian leather generally saved for the gods. His ranch dressing is spicy but palatable, chivey yet smooth.
If you listen closely you might just hear him sing a little ditty about Jack and Diane on a warm summer night. There’ll be a twinkle in his eye and a dab of parmesan on his lip.
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Kelly K
· May 3, 2018 at 6:44 pm
Greg sounds like a fine man. Where does he hang

This scene is my truck. I’m barreling north on Randall Road and need to turn left at the next intersection. There’s a handful of cars that are also barreling south toward the intersection. Because everybody’s got to get to work.
The light is green for both sides. Timing will be close but the southbound traffic has the downhill advantage. I add a little acceleration to the equation. A little horsepower to even the odds.
The light turns yellow so I slow down and then stop at the red light.
I’m always grateful when the cosmos saves me from myself. 😊
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My podcasts were probably broken for the last few days or so.
To make up for the flub, please enjoy this flashback to the late 90s. I wrote, recorded, played all the instruments, and even sang on this gem.
Alias: graham sextonTitle: you're still dumb
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I fall short in life.
That’s not a judgment call or me being hard on myself. It just is. I’m just another guy wandering around aimlessly doing my best…and sometimes doing my least.
Struggling to maintain that non-mistake-making state only makes my life harder. Letting that struggle go gave me so much more free time to enjoy life and the company of my fellow humans.
Well, I guess I never really expected myself to be perfect but I was pretty good at torturing myself when I did screw up. I wouldn’t let that s**t go for whatever reason. Constantly feeling bad about myself is all b******t, though. I make mistakes and then I feel bad about them for the appropriate amount of time and then I move on.
Letting ourselves be human brings our stress levels down. Our bodies will thank us. Our souls will thank us, too, and so will our peeps. People will love being with us when we’re not ruminating over something dumb that happened a week ago.
…
Okay, so that’s all fine and good. I’ve made peace with all that. Made peace with making mistakes.
But the thing is, if I’m intolerant of another person when they come up short, either every day or once in a blue moon, then I’m just an a*****e.
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fleming
· Apr 27, 2018 at 9:51 am
Again, this hits home….ESPECIALLY the last sentence! Thank you!
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tcr!
· Apr 27, 2018 at 10:21 am
You are most welcome!
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jimi hindrance experience
· Apr 28, 2018 at 3:07 am
Thank you Travis. I don’t always comment but I know you don’t take that personal. Love these affirmations. :)
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tcr!
· Apr 28, 2018 at 1:08 pm
Nope, it’s hard for me to take things person these days.
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tcr!
· Apr 28, 2018 at 1:09 pm
Also, SGC wrote the words in the picture. Maybe 13 or 14 years ago.
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marney0160
· May 5, 2018 at 9:53 am
Love it!
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Guys, if you haven't had one of Blue Goose’s Key Lime Bombs then you're missing out. Eating one of those is way better than the time Christie Brinkley kissed me on the cheek. Okay, that’s a lie. That never happened. But my 16 year old self wishes it would have.
Anyways, the moral of the story is that this dessert bomb will literally change your perception of the entire cosmos. Yeah, they will. It’s got a little whip cream swirl with lime zest, it’s got the key lime, it’s got the moist little cake for the foundation, and it’s got toasted coconut. Or maybe they’re nuts. It doesn’t matter. The whole damn thing is delicious. A culinary masterpiece if you will.
The entire affair is exquisite really. You’ll even feel like you’re having an affair and cheating on that chocolate lava cake that once warmed your heart. The Key Lime Bombs are big enough to share with your special someone, too. If you’re into that. If not, just eat one by yourself. I have.
One time I was driving down Riverside while holding a Key Lime Bomb in one hand and steering with the other, the whole while gorging myself. I had whip cream and key lime everywhere. I could barely see. I couldn’t help myself, guys. They’re that good. I couldn’t wait until I got home. Plus, I’d had a hard day at work and wasn’t sharing that time around.
Be quick, though. I rarely see these elusive little critters in Blue Goose’s display case. If they’re sold out, search your soul for some persistence and/or patience.
And be sure to vote Blue Goose as your favorite bakery while you're there. This is not a game.
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Maggie had a little scare yesterday. She had gotten off the school bus and was walking the minute walk back to our house down the alley. Some dude was also walking down the alley behind her and that didn’t sit well with her.
I generally get home 15 to 20 minutes after she does and it’s not that big of a deal for her to walk home and spend that time by herself.
Anyways, after I got back to the house we talk about what happened for a little bit, about the dude, and reviewed all the things you can do in a situation when strangers are following you. Be loud, be visible, make noise, make sure the whole world knows what’s up. It’s the same thing that animals do when they’re nervous and it works pretty well for them.
It also sounded like the guy may have just been walking 30 feet or so behind her, just going in the same direction. I’m not trying to minimize the situation but I know for myself when I panic, things aren’t truly what they seem. I got freaked out and freaked myself out several times as a kid when I was in situations very similar to hers. I can still freak myself out now as a grownup.
So anyways, here’s the real story.
Last night when I was saying good night to her I thought of something else to say around the whole stranger-danger topic. I started talking about it and then immediately thought that it probably wasn’t a good idea at bedtime.
I quickly changed the subject and we talked about something else for a few minutes. I was kind of hoping she’d forget about the whole. But people who're more on the nervous side, they don’t forget.
This morning before school I said to her, “Last night I brought the dude up again and then realized that I shouldn’t have considering what time it was. I hope that it wasn’t on your mind as you were going to sleep. What is it?”
She said that it was for a little bit. I then told her I was sorry and that was the wrong thing for me to do, wrong thing for me to say. She nodded a little bit, absorbing what I’d just said. And then we got on with our day.
It’s important for me to be humble, for me to be human, failings and all, as a parent in front of Maggie. It’s okay for our kids to know that we as parents make mistakes. And more importantly, it’s good for them to hear us own it, too. Our kids will model their behavior after ours. Who they become as adults is directly influenced by who we are to them as parents.
And lastly, it’s crucial for me to ask direct questions if I’m worried that I’ve made a mistake. Like I asked Maggie if what I said had kept her up the night before. I could’ve just said that I hoped our bedtime talk wasn’t on her mind too much while she was going to sleep and left it at that. But that’s not good enough. I needed to ask her point blank if it was.
If I wouldn’t have asked her it would’ve left her alone with her feelings. That those uncomfortable feelings were hers to deal with. I wouldn't have taken full responsibility for my part in causing them. And feelings like those need to be talked about, they need to be acknowledged by the person who was indeed at fault.
If I’m not 100% sure if I’ve done something wrong, I need to find out. Because that’s part of owning what I’ve done. I need to take the initiative and shouldn’t wait for somebody to tell me that I've hurt their feelings. Most of the time I’m pretty sure they won’t.
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Karly
· Apr 25, 2018 at 10:46 am
I’m glad she was aware of her surroundings.
Also, surrounding area police stations will often hold annual free self defense classes. I know St Charles just had 2 in April and Dekalb has them on occasion.
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Karly
· Apr 25, 201

Let me first say that I’m an animal lover as much as the next Dr. Doolittle. It’s rare that I meet a dog or cat and they don’t end up liking me sooner or later. I think mostly that’s because I don’t care if they like me or not.
However, the neighbor’s dog and myself, we don’t get along. He barks at me from his yard every time I’m outside in my yard. Or when I’m walking to or from my garage. Bark, bark, bark.
Obviously he’s got the short man complex.
I’ve tried making friends with him. I’ve tried explaining to him that I’ve lived here longer than he has and that gives me seniority. And on my very worst days I’ll blow my megaphone at him when he so much as lets out a whimper.
So anyways, a little while ago I was out tending my yard and little Napoleon was in his house so all was right with the world. The neighborhood people were also out walking their dogs up and down the alley as they do. And every time they did I heard him barking from inside his house.
I was thinking to myself how annoyed I get just even hearing him bark every now and then. Can imagine the horror of actually living with him relentlessly barking all the eff’ing time? I thought so.
I could only giggle quietly to myself.
In other news, does anybody know what kind of plant these are?
Some of the taproots are almost as big as carrots. It looks kinda like a dainty fern and it’s soft as a feather. It’s also decided to take over the world. Well, take over my backyard anyway.
Update: they're Queen Anne's Lace. Apparently a couple of summers ago I did, in fact, let them take over the world.
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sveagrabarek
· Apr 20, 2018 at 8:48 pm
Queen Annes lace. They’re bastards.
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tcr!
· Apr 20, 2018 at 8:54 pm
Oh yeah!
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sveagrabarek
· Apr 20, 2018 at 8:59 pm
They’re excellent for anger management.
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Lisette
· Apr 20, 2018 at 9:30 pm
They look like mandrake from the Harry Potter movies
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tcr!
· Apr 20, 2018 at 10:14 pm
Apparently a couple of summers ago I did, in fact, let the Queen Anne’s Lace aka wild carrots take over the world.
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ajc
· Apr 21, 2018 at 10:09 am
I don’t have the issue with the Queen Annes Lace, however I do have the issue of the non-stop barking from the neighbor’s dog. It is a small dog that I could quite easily drop kick through the air across the yard and into never never land. ( I would never have such evil thoughts wink wink) Its very frustrating because during the warmer months I spend the majority of my time at home outside working in my backyard. I have done everything from ignoring the animal, attempting to bribe it (I almost got bitten), throwing small sticks to distract it, to messaging the offending neighbor via messenger, Other people in the neighborhood have called the police and reported them. This worked for them because now the dog is no longer allowed in the front yard only the back which is where I hang out. None of these methods work for me and finally one night last week I screamed “SHUT THE F**K UP” and low and behold the neighbor appeared immediately and brought the offending animal inside. Finally a method that works. I will continue to do this until it doesn’t. Funny thing is she locked the dog in t

I haven’t been writing as much because I’ve been struggling with my nicotine addiction. All sorts of things happen and don’t happen when I try to quit.
Sometimes I’ll spout off something about quitting on social media or whatever but lately I’ve just been keeping my struggles to myself. Because unless somebody was a daily smoker for over 30 years, they don’t really get it. I know people are trying to help but move along. Sometimes we just need to vent.
And then vaping made my addiction even worse because I could do it anywhere at anytime. I would vape at Maggie’s school during her recitals and in team meetings at work, too. I would use my vapor in the dentist’s restroom before I went in to see them.
When I go into withdrawal my ears will ring. Ring to the point that I can hear them in the next room. My head will start to hurt. Like I have a vice slowly squeezing my temples. It’s not a sharp pain but dull and warm and oh so intense. And when it’s really bad I’ll start to get lightheaded. Like I’m going to fall over. Detox always makes my stomach bloated and gurgly regardless of which drug it is. My intestines will fill with witches brew and putrid toxins.
I’ve not been sleeping that great at night which makes it hard for me to concentrate throughout the day. Concentrate on writing or whatever. And then because I’m tired I drink more caffeine. In the early evening when I’m dragging both feet I'll make a couple cups of coffee because I’m missing my old smoking friend. I’ll jump from one drug to another. Trade this addiction for that one. I didn’t realize I was even doing it at first with the coffees because when you’re a drug addict the addiction is sneaky and silent.
I've quit smoking probably 20 times and generally end up smoking again because the physical pain gets to be too much. And I know that if I smoke or vape or whatever all that pain goes away.
And then I stopped this morning and bought a pack cigarettes because the hellfire withdrawal had been kicking my ass for the better part of two days. I’ll do that every now and then, buy a pack, smoke one or two and then throw the unsmoked away.
I never tell anyone when I buy a pack of cigarettes because everybody is always disappointed. Because I’m the poster child for success or something.
...
It was snowing this morning. In the middle of April. And as I was standing outside the gas station smoking, a guy came up to me and asked for a cigarette. He had to be at least 20 years younger and wasn't wearing a winter coat. He was missing half of his index and middle fingers on one hand. He had a plastic grocery sack full of things he hadn’t bought recently.
He seemed reluctant to ask me for a smoke but he still did because nicotine is a powerful bitch. I gave him three cigarettes and he was more than grateful. I could see the look of relief on his face. I treated him with dignity and respect because all people deserve that no matter where they are in life. No matter what really.
He reminded me of my 19 year old self when I lived in Cedar Rapids with one of my brothers. No job, no money, and desperately needing something to fill my soul. Standing in the morning snowfall regardless of the cold, feeding my addictions however I could.
Somehow I made it out of that era with all my fingers and toes attached. But I easily couldn't have. Somehow I made it out of that life alive and now have my own house, a career, beautiful daughters, a gorgeous girlfriend, and all that.
Somehow I made it over the hump and to the place where I have a choice in life.
Driving away I wish I would’ve given him the whole pack. I wanted to tell him that he could make it out, too. Make it out of whatever place he was in. That life is bigger than where your next cigarette comes from.
But I didn’t think about any of that until I was driving away. Plus, I

I think what annoys me most about driving on Randall Road is that the speed limit is 45 mph but with the sheer amount of daytime traffic and number of stoplights by the Commons, I never get to actually go 45.
See, if I can just get around these other cars I can enjoy the Road Warrior speeds as posted by the Illinois Department of Transportation. Or whoever makes up the speed limits. But no, I’m stuck not even going half that.
Like when I'm waiting behind the lady in Walgreens on State Street who's fighting with the cashier about which M&M varieties are buy-one, get-one free.
No wait, it’s more like when I turned into the pasta aisle at Super Target on the east side of St. Charles to grab a jar of Newman’s Own Marinara but then there’s this dude and his cart blocking ALL THE SAUCES as he tries to pick out which Bertolli to buy. Just get the Tomato & Basil and let people move on with their lives.
I can see my favorite red sauce. There on the other side of his cart. It’s almost within my grasp but I just can’t quite get to it. But it’s right there. Just a few feet away.
But no, I don’t get to have my non-chunky pasta sauce nor do I get to drive the maximum speed limit on this north-south county highway. Because I can’t have nice things.
And yes, lady driving next to me: I am brushing my teeth while driving. I’m on my way to the dentist.
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myrna
· Apr 16, 2018 at 7:39 pm
You’re a good brusher! 😉
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tcr!
· Apr 16, 2018 at 7:57 pm
I do my best 😊
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klaurindabrey
· Apr 16, 2018 at 8:09 pm
I do it all the time bro!
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tcr!
· Apr 16, 2018 at 9:14 pm
Haha! Ok good. 😊
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Well over half the conversations I have are all words. Personal and professional. All reading and responding. I want to say there is no voice in them but each author has their own in black and white. It’s still all words though. Nothing verbal. The only emotions are the ones I assign based on how I know the sender.
I try hard to read everything personal I get as really great news. At the very least I try not to assume those words sent to me and meant for me are negative. When I get a text or an email I take the words literally unless I know the other person is joking.
I’ve said most of that before. Playing games complicates life and I want less complication.
Words can be tricky, though. I do my best when I get a suspect message to pause and see the sender as a whole human being. Just take a minute before I get trigger-finger happy with a response. That pause helps defuse any bomb I think I might be holding. Believe it or not I’ve misread and misunderstood words before and then jumped to nasty conclusions and ended up looking like an ass.
My point is that I do my best to imagine the sender sending cheery communications and that in turn keeps me on positive path when I reply.
...
In somewhat related news, Biz Stone (one of the founders of Twitter) said[1] a few years back that he was “operating under the assumption” that everybody liked him. I enjoyed reading that because for much of my life I assumed that at least half of everyone was out to get me.[2]
Treating people as if they liked me and as if I liked them did wonders for my relationships. Watch someone’s face light up when you tell[3] them that you’re excited to see them.
After I altered my interactions with people, they in turn started treating me with love and respect. They started being excited to see me as well. And I got to let go of pretty much all of my paranoia.
It’s always good for me to remember that “acting as if” can and will fundamentally change who I am. And also that I’m never going to be able to “will” away paranoia and friends. I need to find a positive behavior to practice instead of trying to force myself to give up a negative one.
...
And so then what started me writing this correspondence to you guys is this other guy I traded work emails with for years. And because I knew he could be a jerk in person I assumed most of what he wrote to be jerky as well. The communications were an exercise in combat. Mental conflicts that were simply exhausting. I ended up dreading each time I got a notification ding.
Now some time has passed and I’ve gotten a little separation and I wonder what our conversations would’ve been like if I just pretended that everything he wrote came from a good place. I’m 99% sure that it didn’t just because I knew how he could be back that, but every now and then I “pontificate” how the dynamics would’ve change if I would’ve simply changed my point of view.
Read and responded to everything he sent like we were working toward the same goal. Maybe even that his words were “really great news.”
If instead of seeing him as hostile, I just saw him as a person who liked me. If instead of reading his words as angry, I read them as happy. Regardless of his intent.
I was hesitant to do that when I had the chance. Even though I think it’s a worthy cause, I also think there’s a damn good chance I’d have just come across as sarcastic or snide.
It’s too late for me to have a better relationship with that guy now but it’s not too late for me to interpret every new email or message I get as simply delightful.
What if I operate under the assumption that all communications I get are good? 🤔
What if I operate under the assumption that all people are good by default? 🤔
Well, let’s not get too crazy here.
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On a person's special day if I tell the person that I forgot to give or get them a present, it’s like instead of giving them their actual present I'm giving them an “I forgot” instead. Regardless if I actually do give them the present later.
It’s better to not hear anything at all, to be kept wondering, a little mystery perhaps, than to get an “I’m sorry that you weren’t high enough on my list to remember but here’s this apology instead.”
Nobody likes to hear that they were forgotten or feel like they’re an after thought. And when they actually do get their present, it has this uncomfortable bow attached.
So if, on a special day for someone, I forget to “do” what I'm supposed to do, I try to stay away from telling them that I forgot. I’d rather play it cool and “do” what I'm supposed to do as soon as possible.
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And then there was that one time when myself and two older friends were drinking and carrying on, using too many drugs, and just driving around out in the country.
And then they decided they wanted to rob a house.
Being younger I went along with their plans because that’s what I usually did. Everybody I knew, everybody that I got high with in the early 90s was older. Sometimes a lot older.
And I went along with them because a- it was generally fun being up to no good and b- I liked that they invited me along. Even if I was always somebody’s little brother.
I wanted in, I wanted to be part of the adventure. I wanted to be part of a revolution but there was none around. Being up to no good was as close as I could get in rural Iowa to being a revolutionary.
The two I was with that particular night were a couple and I was just along for the ride. Sometimes I would end up in the backseat of somebody’s car and that was totally fine by me. Going anywhere, doing anything, getting high and not being me.
When we got to the house, for whatever reason the lady decided to park in the driveway. It didn’t strike me as odd at first since we were out in the middle of nowhere and it was well past midnight. And I was lit.
As we sat there in the dark, they immediately started bickering about how we were going to actually break into the house.
Basement window? Backdoor? Garage?
After we sat there for 10 or 15 minutes the reality of the situation started became all too apparent. There I was manning the backseat of a beatdown car in the driveway of a house we were about to rob while two methheads couldn’t agree on the best way in.
I could see this adventure playing out only one way. And it involved me going to jail. Again. But this time it wouldn’t be for something trivial like public intox.
Playing it cool, I leaned up and put my arms on their bench seat and said, “this is a bad idea.”
They were drug addicts so much more than me, way worse than I ever was. Robbing the house was gonna give them drug money and I certainly didn’t think they’d pay much attention to my meager protest. I was always somebody’s little brother after all.
But in the few moments that followed my B&E objection they changed their mind. A glimmer of reasonable moonlight broke through their teeth grinding addiction. And then she started the car.
And we then left.
As ridiculous as this story is, it’s also one of the few times where I felt like an equal among that group of people. I felt like that my voice not only counted but was it taken seriously and then acted on.
I felt like a peer in the revolution.
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I’m not overly fond of the word, “slice.” I never say slice. Not a slice of pizza or a slice of pie. It’s always a piece.
“Splice” is okay but remove the “p” and it’s out of the question. I never slice anything either. I cut s**t. Not often with surgical precision.
This also may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever wrote. Or written. Depending on your grammar.
It’s not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. That would be when I was holding a lit firecracker, blew it out, and made the mistake of thinking I was good.
These are the kinds of things I think about when I don’t have any real life struggles.
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When I was a kid living in a little town in Iowa, our neighborhood, our street, our house they all felt like home to me. I always felt secure, always felt like I belonged. My life was feature complete on that block.
I’m sure it was because that house on Allison Avenue in Ottumwa was the only place I’d ever lived, the only home I’d ever known. That street just a single block long was the center of my whole universe.
A group of us kids would ride our bikes over to Mowery, maybe around McKinley, always down the Johnson ramp, and across Albia Road to Dairy Queen. Sometimes Pamida instead. If that name doesn’t ring a bell, think department store akin to K-mart.
And my mom made dinner every night and when I sat down to eat with her, my dad, and sister nothing was ever missing. The dinner table always felt full.
Since then I’ve lived in more places than I can count. Lived on both coasts and in plenty of places in between. The only time I feel that same sense of home I did as a kid is when Maggie and I are out riding our bikes.
I don’t know what it is about fixed-gears and neighborhood streets but they ring a bicycle bell with my emotions. I’m taken back to Allison, taken back to something much more than simple deja-vu. It sounds corny but it feels as if my spirit transcends space and time and part of me is there on the avenue again.
And yes, I absolutely feel a sense of family when Maggie and I are eating dinner but then again something is always missing. I feel a separation, a loss. I feel incomplete. Because my mom, dad, and sister aren’t there.
On Allison we always ate in the kitchen because we didn’t have a dining room. Maggie and I have a dining room now but we always eat in the kitchen. Because kitchens feel more like home.
I wonder if my mom felt the same way, missing her mom and dad, longing for her brothers when she was making us dinner in Ottumwa. Remembering the times around her kitchen table with her childhood family out on the farm just south of town.
I wonder if I feel like my dad did when he was making dinner for Angie and I. When we were a little bit older and the three of us lived together on Casper.
And I also wonder if Maggie will feel the same after she grows up, when she’s making dinner for her kids. Remember that one year she and I watched every episode of Lost while we ate the dinner I made for us.
“You can’t go home” the book title famously says. I’ve driven down Allison Avenue a few times as an adult, wanting to revisit the old neighborhood and all. I was hoping to feel something each time I went, recapture a little childhood magic but I only felt a distant connection to a fading past. And what's more, I felt out of place. That neighborhood isn’t mine anymore.
My memories from the 70s are so much more powerful than actually being there. Part of me wishes I could go back but I’d have to time travel I suppose.
[...school night interlude, including showers and homework...]
I had a minor revelation after getting my earlier thoughts out in the open and letting them simmer for a bit. I almost always write to process something and what I’ve found tonight is that memories are what make places feel like home.
Maggie learned to ride her bike behind our garage in the alley. We were out there for a couple of hours and she was so close. So close, so many times but it just wasn’t happening. She was wearing down and I wanted her to keep trying. She and I both knew she almost had it. There’ll be a certain electricity when you’re on the verge of becoming more than what you have been. When you’re on the verge of flying to greater heights.
And then she got enough momentum. She let go and trusted her body. She found her balance. And then she was off riding two wheels by herself.
Fixed-gear bike, too. Because they’re bad ass.
Mom and I in the Allison kitche

Abstract
I think all that jive about “not caring what other people think” is mostly b******t.
Exhibit A
When I puff out my chest and chant the “I don’t care what they think“ mantra, it feels like I’m just giving myself a free pass to act like an a*****e. And really I’m probably doing something I shouldn’t be doing or just did something I shouldn’t have done.
Like that time you all know and love when I went into Jewel at quarter to eight in the morning with bloodshot eyes, looking like I’d only slept for a few hours. Because I had. And then walked up to the checkout lady with 2 pints of beer in my basket, all standoffish. Temperamental and dramatic and inwardly screaming, “Judge me all you want. I don’t give a f**k!”
Yeah, that was just a cover up for the shame I felt for buying beer before the day had even started. It had nothing to do with legitimately not caring about what the lady in Jewel thought.
When the “I don’t give a f**k what they think” comes out of my mouth or I’m all emotionally rambunctious up in my head most likely I’m up to no good. In one way or another. Maybe I haven’t actually done anything yet. Maybe my motives aren’t in the right place or my emotions aren’t pure. Whatever it is something is off.
I’m not trying to sound preachy but whatever. I probably am.
Exhibit B
I don’t care what the neighbors think about the pink Christmas lights hanging in my kitchen window year round. However, this example of “not caring” never crossed my mind until I started exploring this apathetic path. If you will. I never thought about what they think let alone bothered to care what they think. I honestly didn’t think about the pink lights because I honestly don’t care.
That’s when “not caring” is not b******t: when I have zero thought and zero emotional investment.
Truly not worrying about what people think of me and the things I like, that all comes from a place of calm and confidence and not one of bolstered and shouting egos. Not one of loud arrogance.
I do what I want and so long as I’m not stepping on someone else’s toes then I don’t give a f**k. Don’t give a f**k enough to not even think about giving a f**k. If that makes sense.
Exhibit C
I do care what people think about me. I care about my family and friends’ opinions because what they think is important. It counts. It matters.
If my friends think I’m being an a*****e or if a stranger looks at me like I’m being a jerk, there’s something wrong with what I’m doing. Like if I say something in front of a server at a restaurant and an honest-to-god worried look comes across their face then I have wonder to myself, “Oh. I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I shouldn’t say that again.”[1]
Being a jerk is something I’m never trying to do these days but I’m only human and sometimes I don’t realize I’m being an ass. This is why what other people think is important. I look for guidance from the people that I trust in my life when I’m uncertain.
I look to and count on my peers calling me out because I’m so wrapped up in me most of the time that I have a hard time seeing what’s going on. More importantly what’s going wrong.
If I have something in my teeth I know that somebody will tell me. Man, is hearing that rough, too. Saying it isn’t any fun either. Being either person in that situation can be uncomfortable. And then of course Maggie showed me how to handle all of that. A few weeks ago I told her that something was in her teeth after dinner. She said “thank you” and then went and got a toothpick.[2] That’s the end of the story. And also an excellent example of what “not caring” is really all about.
This might sound self-deprecating but I f****d up a good chunk of my life because I didn’t care what people close to me thought and I just did whateve

Sara and I watched Anthony Bourdain in Spain last night. I wish that watching bullfights didn’t bother me as much as it does but I could never get behind a sport like that. Not that I’m somebody big and influential or whatever but killing an animal so you can be a rockstar is b******t.
It doesn’t matter if it’s part of the heritage or culture. It’s barbaric and inhumane. I don’t see it any differently than wrestling with a dog or playing with a cat and then breaking their neck.
Bourdain didn’t look like he enjoyed the bull’s death much either. But ya know what, I would’ve canceled the episode if I was him. It’s important to stand up for what’s right or to stand up and say “this is wrong.” Even more so when you have a direct impact on the situation’s outcome.
I love his shows, always have but after the episode we watched last night, I lost some respect for him.
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Like I was all about SpongeBob. I went into my bedroom to have a nap (which is kind of funny that even in my dreams I’m thinking about taking a nap).
And then when I laid down on my bed it was SpongeBob as far as the eye could see.
I had a keychain, a plushy, all kinds of toys. He was on my bedspread and pillow cases. Everywhere I looked there the little yellow man was.
And that’s all I remember. I must’ve started dreaming about something else.
My point to all of this is that this is the dumbest f*****g dream I’ve had my whole life. And this is why you don’t tell people about your dreams. Ever. Unless you found the cure for cancer while you were asleep, nobody will care about your SpongeBob drivel.
I’m sorry if your dreams are important to you. But it can be downright painful for the person listening to you recount every meaningless scene in your latest dream. Especially when it’s first thing in the morning.
It’s borderline abuse really.
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For much of my life I’ve been internally combustible and physically uncomfortable. I felt ill and under and unequipped just being human. Even trying to be human. Too much s**t gurgling in my stomach. Never ending mallet beating my heart. Intestines put on backwards and inside out. My thoughts whirling and jerking back and forth by some restless, mechanical bull.
I’m melodramatic, I know.
But when I found drugs and alcohol as a teenager that fixed me, that calmed the bomb and made life tolerable, comfortable. The whole reason why I drank as much and as hard as I did was because drinking brought me relief. And not only that but it took me to a place of adventure, a place I was fond of, a place without restraints. A feeling inside and out that nothing mattered, nothing could touch me, and I just didn’t give a f**k. If it was sunny outside then that was perfect and if it were raining then that was f*****g awesome, too.
Of course being alcoholic there always comes a point where the watered down solution becomes a problem in itself. Becomes more of a problem than the anxiety I was trying to do away with.
And then when I did stop drinking the pressures of everyday life were back. More painful than ever. I didn’t have many skills to deal with them and oh boy, did the mechanical bull launch full throttle again. The first year and two I was sober I felt the craziest that I ever had my whole life. Like every nerve in my body was exposed, every sight a cause for alarm.
Am I going to be able to drive all the way home? I can’t even f*****g think straight.
And every sound twice as loud.
Why is everyone talking through a megaphone?
In related news, it feels like there’s been ringing in my ears since I was nine.
Freshly sober my anxiety would have me up at 4:30 in the morning, pounding down the coffees. Other times I’d be up well past midnight, smoking cigarette[1] after cigarette. Day and night making my combustion worse by not sleeping and pumping more toxins into my system.
In the here-and-now, even well into sobriety, when I’m uncomfortable my go-to reaction is to fix how I feel. Reach for cigarettes that aren’t there. Look for something outside of me to soothe the unrest within. Something, anything to take away the worry, the doubt, the paranoia. Unplug the melodramatic bull.
After I got back into 12-step recovery one of the most valuable tools that I learned was the cosmic pause. To take an interlude. To stop. For a moment. To breathe.
And also to learn how to feel my feelings, especially the uncomfortable ones. I’m sure I’ve quoted Tony before when he said, “those that make it are the ones who learn how to be uncomfortable.”
My last divorce was certainly uncomfortable and plenty difficult for everybody involved. Every time I would get a text message from my ex-wife my heart would race and I felt like I was holding a bomb. My hands would shake as I was pummeled with nervous, dizzy emotion. And it would all happen in an instant. Maybe kinda like a panic attack. :)
Then of course I would immediately read/react/reply, and the text messages would explode with overflowing wells of anger. Puke and s**t everywhere. It was the same story with my first ex-wife except we’d actually be calling each other all frenzy-like since cell phones weren’t an everyday thing.
And then somewhere along the way the cosmos gave me some insight.
I didn’t have to respond to someone’s messages[2] right away. I didn’t even have to read them right when my phone popped up an alert. Hell, I didn’t have to read them at all if I didn’t want to. F*****g spiritual revelation.
When I get in those kind of tense situations where I’m feeling nervous or unsure I do my best to simply pause. Accept that whatever I’m feeling is how I’m supposed to be feeling at that very moment. And then say a little prayer

My cat was glaring at me as I was putting on my shoes this morning. I was like “what the f**k are you looking at?“
Yeah, it was early.
And then as I’m walking into the other room I looked back at her and she was still scowling, scowling at something off in the distance.
And then I remembered that life’s not all about me.
When I was telling Maggie my struggles she said, “She was probably scowling at the clock. Nobody likes the clock this early.”
It’s important for me to share these life lessons with Maggie because these are the kinds of things I’ve struggled with my whole life. At her age she’s far ahead of where I was then and I’d like to keep that positive trend going.
Be humble. Share your spiritual revelations with your kids. You’ll probably never get a “thank you” but you’ll see them make the right choices when the time comes, when it counts.
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The scene is a parking lot. An elderly woman is walking up ahead of me as I’m driving. She looks fragile, defenseless, and unsure.
She sees my truck and a look of terror comes across her face. While it’s not a monster my Dakota is still 4000 pounds of machine.
I slow way down as I go around her. I wave and give her friendly smile. She looks relieved and waves back.
She’s still smiling in my rearview mirror as I go around a corner and loose sight of her.
Reassuring our fellow humans, even strangers, is one of the best things ever. And it costs nothing.
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Watch on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FM7MFYoylVs
Peeps, here’s your batman-with-his-fists Friday jam. I know I’ve said this before but I absolutely hated songs like this in another life. Jams like this would come on when I was a teenager or in my 20s and I'd turn that s**t off.
I was pretty dumb and pretty snotty when it came to music. But I guess more than that I’d never felt the magic with another person they were singing in their ballads. My gut reaction was then to always condemn their melodies. F**k them guys like Coldplay.
And then after my first divorce I learned that being alone was my choice. It wasn’t fate or destiny. It was my s****y attitude.
So in the here-and-now I know what they’re talking about. I’ve felt something “just like this” and it changed everything.
If you never have felt a love song then don’t worry. That feeling’s out there. It may be just around the corner. A person you may or may not know is waiting, is looking for you, too.
But first don’t be an all around jerk. Throw away your b******t and open yourself up to nonfictional fairy tales. There’s a love song with your name on it. Somebody’s holding out for a magical adventure. Just with you.
Make sure you’re ready for them.
And then hold their hand when you run away together.
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It’s easy to be of the mindset that how people behave is their business and I shouldn’t let it affect me. But that’s a level of spiritual enlightenment most likely I’ll never reach. Setting such a high bar for myself always makes me feel like I’m coming up short. I shouldn’t go around expecting myself to be more than I actually am, do more than I actually can.
When I try and stop things from bugging me I tend to act/react twice as bad. The situation tends to ratchet up because I’m suppressing natural emotion. Not allowing myself to feel all of god’s given emotions is the never the right thing to do.
Not long ago I was pretty agitated with somebody and I’m sure it showed. But I don’t give a f**k. People throw tantrums and I’ll scoff in their general direction.
I think the real goal in situations like this, when others are behaving badly is to strive for simply not acting badly myself. Morons will always get on my nerves. I’m not immune to another’s stupidity but if I mind my proverbial Ps and Qs all will be right in the cosmos.
And when all is said and done I a- get to experience all my emotions, good or bad and b- don’t have any fences to mend. Then I get on with my life.
In related news... acting tough, walking around with your chest puffed out just makes you look like an a*****e.
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Friends. Family. Total strangers. I don’t consider himself an arrogant person.
One evening, however, when I was running “who do I have to blow” late, I was pulled over. You may have heard this policeman story before. It was many years ago so don’t get too excited.
Anyways, when the officer walked up to my driver’s side window, I flicked my cigarette down toward his lazily shined shoes. I didn’t consciously do this, had no intention of being jerky, no intention of premeditated arrogance. It just happened.
I got a ticket for “disposing of flammable materials from a vehicle” that day. I never paid it.
We all have moments of belligerence I suppose.
And then there was that one time in high school when I was walking home by myself. A guy I was friends with drove past in his little red VW. I gave him the bird as he went by. Again, I don’t know why I did. It just happened.
When I saw him the next day at school he asked me why I had flipped him off. Feeling somewhat on the spot and held accountable for what I’d done, I told him it was because I was walking and he was not.
He then said to me, “you should’ve asked me for a ride” in a gentle, veritable kinda way. Instead of ratcheting the conversation up with more arrogance, he extended his hand in friendship.
Bill was a legitimately good guy. A better person than I was at the time for sure. We weren’t close friends but I still considered him my friend. And knowing Bill made me want to be somebody like him. Helped me realize that it’s okay to not only ask for what I need but also for what I want, what I’d like. Because friends do things for each other. Just because they’re friends.
Being a jerk by default never did me any favors. Granted in high school I didn’t really know how to do any better but in the here-and-now I’m grateful for those little interactions that helped me learn.
In that brief conversation before class started, Bill taught me that conflicts can be short circuited with friendly compassion.
I regret not getting to know more people in high school. I was too wrapped up in me and my chaos to make that happen. But looking back now as I drive to work, I’m sure there was a whole lot more Breakfast Club there that I didn’t even know about.
I’m in the math club, uh, the Latin, and the physics club... physics club.
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I don’t know how it is that I still put on my shirt backwards. I get one on, something feels uncomfortable, and then I look down and see a tag below my chin.
What the f**k? Am I five?
I pull my arms out and then do the straitjacket maneuver to spin it around proper. Next thing I know I’m on a dolly and Senator Martin is questioning me about her daughter.
This is why I have a hard time even getting out of bed in the morning
Oh, and Senator, just one more thing. Love your suit.
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Everything goes up-and-down I suppose. Sometimes life is bright, sometimes it’s a fireball. Sometime it’s not.
And then also it’s good for me to let things go just as the sun sets. It’ll rise tomorrow and life will bring me something new. Maybe another fireball. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter, it’ll be good.
No, it’ll be better than good. It’ll be f*****g fantastic. Because life is fantastic.
As Jimi used to tell me when I was miserable over Kathy way back when, “the best is yet to come.”
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And there was that one time way back in high school when my best friend and I would sit in the round-a-bout in the middle of town. When cars would circle by we would wave “HI” at them.
And then when they’d wave back, we’d shout belligerently “NOT YOU.”
Some of you may have heard that story before. It’s one of those things I still feel legitimately bad about. I mean everybody has had somebody wave at them and then after the fact realized that they weren’t the ones actually being waved at.
That’s the worst right? Social embarrassment to the Nth degree. And even worse when this happens with complete strangers.
So these people in their cars would put themselves out there, go out on a limb, take a vulnerable chance, wave back at somebody they don't know, and then my friend and I would crush their hopes and dreams. Like assholes.
Yeah, I’m gonna have to be a better person for the rest of my life to make up for that s**t. 😊
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Here’s a peek behind the curtain.
Maggie and I are both introverts. We’re most comfortable hanging out alone or with just one or two people. In the winter we isolate even more. It’s cold outside and neither of us are into sledding and all that wintery hoopla. After these past Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year holidays I was worried we’d hibernate on the weekends, just she and I in front of the TV watching Lost. I was worried we’d turn into The Shining twins or something come February.
With all that in mind we made a deal last month that she would have a get-together one weekend and then I would have one another weekend. Step outside of our comfy, familiar boxes because even though we have people over now and then, we don’t do it often. Nor do we have a lot of people over at once. Especially people that have never been over before.
Okay, now wait a second. Inviting new people over? That’s crazy talk. That’s inviting anxiety to come over and play in our heads.
Spiral downward with us for a moment if you will... What if people say no? What if nobody shows up? What if we run out of drinks? What if they don’t have a good time and then spread nasty rumors come Monday? Maggie said to me, “What if someone picks up the cats? What if a boy goes in my room? We’re gonna need rules, dad.”
So really is it worth it to even bother with get-togethers considering this kind disaster potential? With all this mental back and forth? With all the “I’ve never done this before” sinking kinda feelings. There’s so many messy variations and ugly permutations that planning something out of the ordinary can feel overwhelming, to the point where it’s easier just to shut down and not do anything.
But all of that is b******t. A good way to just stay stuck. To live in the nuclear age of prepackaged TV dinners around ye boob tube. Where our neighbors are just strangers and the only people we know are on social media. I don’t know why it bothers me that I don’t know how tall my Facebook-only friends are. But it does.
Anyways, fear shouldn’t paralyze us from living life to it’s fullest or even doing the simple things that we want to do. If we think too much about how something can work or even if it could work, or if we’d feel awkward or out of place, we just end up in an anxious mind f**k where nothing happens and we never do anything. We miss out.
I tell myself to “stop thinking” all the time because I generally only end up with a list of reasons why not.
At the beginning of this month Maggie and I decided that none of that s**t matters. We’d put ourselves out there and let everything else fall into place. Stay out of the doomsday predictions and let the cosmos take care of the rest.
So what if nobody comes? We should focus on the people that do, enjoy their company. They’re the ones that count come 6pm anyway. If we run out of drinks, big deal. The cats will take care of themselves, too.
Who gives a f**k what happens. It’ll be fun. Mark Manson’s “zero f***s given” mantra was about finding the appropriate things to give a f**k about. And I’m excited that you guys are coming over. That’s what I give a f**k about at the moment.
I’ll leave you with the tried and true: make plans but don’t plan the results.
Even better: make plans and assume the future will be good.
Also, if you feel socially awkward in general or even about just coming over, don’t worry much. All of my friends, all the people I invited are good people. Otherwise I wouldn’t be friends with them and they certainly wouldn’t be coming over. There's something about each of them that I admire and respect.
Mix it up, talk to people, see what happens. I can’t entertain all of you at once.
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Denny's circa Dec 22, 2017
Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.— Step 2 of Alcoholics Anonymous
The drug and alcohol treatment center I went to in the early 90s was 12-step based. Their treatment plan was to have patients complete the first five steps in order to graduate. When working Step Two, we spent a good chunk of time making lists of how and why we were insane. Those lists were easy to make but in the here-and-now I kinda think they missed the point.
The point of this step isn’t to review what we’ve done in order to convince ourselves that we have a drug or alcohol problem, that in fact we were insane. Insanity is fairly obvious when you’re ready to stop. I’ve felt insane in my fingertips.
The Second Step is about finding something bigger that we can believe in to “restore us to sanity” with “restore” being the keyword in the latter half of the step. I’m not here to define insanity. That’s looking at the problem and keeps me stuck.
I have plenty of them “and then one time” stories along the lines of… on Christmas Eve when the family and I were all decorating the tree, I would sneak down to the basement every so often and take a big pull off my whiskey bottle. And then before the night was over my ex-wife was saying to me teary-eyed, “are you drunk?”
Crazy, I know it all too well. I’m much more interested in looking for hope now, in reinstalling some sanity now that my jugs are plugged. And pay attention to this: it’s not “will restore” but “could restore.” We have to let that power in.
The good news is that I was sane when I was a little kid. Children are pure, they’re untainted. They aren’t born with judgement or resentment or anxiety. Through a higher power’s help I was able to find my way back to a sound mind, a stable way of living as a grownup. Anxiety free more often than not.
…
And then there was that one time not long ago when I was having dinner by myself at Denny’s. Looking around the restaurant, there I was the only person flying solo. Eating alone isn’t my favorite thing to do but whatever. I mostly have self-assurance. I generally have peace. I can be by myself in public. I have my phone. I have the whole Internet.
On one of the social medias I saw a picture of my ex-wife. With her boyfriend. And they were smiling at each other. And there I was sitting by myself.
At one point in my career that was a recipe for emotional overload.
But get this: by no choice of my own, I was honestly happy for them. Because I could see they had something going on between them that she and I hadn’t had for a long time. Happy because I always wanted the very best for her and looking at that picture I knew the “very best” wasn’t me. She had found it with someone else.
Because I had closure, because I had walked through that breakup’s phenomenal pain, I could be sincerely happy for them in the here and now. Even though I was alone with my fork and knife, a power greater than me had served me up some sanity.
One time several years ago I woke her up at 6:00 in the morning because I had lost my mind and I needed to tell her that she had played a part in all of that. This alcoholic had gone crazy when he first sobered up. Life was staring me straight in the face like a loaded gun. Waking her up before the sun was even shining was me embracing and exercising insanity in my daily life. Spilling it onto her life.
Moving from that kind of early morning, alarm clock crazy to being truly happy for her at Denny’s, that’s being restored to sanity. And not by my own doing.
How and when does that restoration happen? How does one move from alarm clock crazy to genuine happiness for another?
With failed marriages and sour breakups time is always key factor. I needed some distance, needed some room for my mind to br

So one time when I was “quit smoking” I was headed up to see my dentist in Elgin. Don’t ask me for a referral. He’s long since retired and is probably off riding a mule in the Grand Canyon these days.
He actually rode a mule there once. A mule by the name of Travis. I heard that story every time I went to see him.
Anyway, whatever stop smoking aid I was using that day wasn’t working. I had a little panic attack and that quickly turned into full blown, terror frenzy.
I stopped and charged into the nearest gas station, drooling at the mouth, doing sign language, knocking over kids and racks of maps. After I got a pack of cigarettes in my hands, I tore into them like a bear after honey, ripping open a beehive regardless of consequences.[1]
I had one in my mouth before even getting outside the gas station. I lit one up in the cool Autumn air and felt the fabulous serenity now. The world made sense. The radio station tuned in. I was a little light headed but the pleasure sensors were firing on all 12 cylinders.
A few minutes later as the smoking cigarette was winding down, the self-disgust was winding up. That “smoking again” love/hate kinda thing. Shaking my head I stubbed the cigarette out and headed back up toward that mule riding dentist.
Driving along Highway 31 and the smoking guilt got to be too much. I remembered what a client had said to me once.
You’re a vegetarian but you smoke??[2]
I stopped at another gas station and threw the pack of 19 cigarettes in the closest garbage can. Then I roared away in the Cube like a bear shot in the neck with a goat tranquilizer.
[...Interlude of tooth song and dance...]
While driving back home the fiery nicotine addiction kicked back in. My body was withdrawing and my mind going berserk. When I get in this spot, frantic desperation will kick my ass every single time.
Yes, of course, I did stop back at that second gas station and did dug the 19 pack back outta the trash.[3] I was literally digging in the garbage can. Of a public place. In broad daylight. In a smoke finding delirium. With my mouth half numb from all the dentistry prodding and poking.
People were looking at me like I was a red-assed baboon, masturbating[4] at the zoo while baring his teeth as a warning.
Keep the children away from him!
If you’ve ever committed this act of communal cigarette larceny you’re not alone.
Peeps, that’s the end of this story. Happy Wednesday!
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Please note: a bear’s thick coat protects them from being stung. They have little consequence for their actions. ↑
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of disappointment. ↑
Addicts know no shame. Nicotine is one of the most powerful drugs, chemicals, bitches I’ve ever encountered. ↑
Please note: I was fully dressed. ↑
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Just to put this out there...
I'm not preparing some gourmet tator-tot frenzied extravaganza here nor am I Abe Froman, tater-tot king of Geneva. Think of the tator-tots more as party food that will be available, same as Doritos or Hot Tamales.
My plan is to buy 4-5 bags of le tots and a few bottles of ketchup. My plan is not to be man-handling a deep fryer all night like the parking garage attendants man-handled Cameron’s dad’s 1961 Ferrari.
But I do appreciate the calculations!
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I’m *thinking* about having a get-together this coming Saturday, February 24th. If you’re reading this you’re invited. It would be a social mixer of sorts with snacks and drinks. No, I’m not making you all dinner. Tater-tots could possibly be available.
It would be kid friendly, too, since Maggie would also be hosting. Also, since you all know me you know that I don’t drink anymore. It’s not that I didn’t like drinking, it was more that I didn’t like to stop drinking. Yes, you could bring a bottle of wine but no boxed wine. You could bring a bottle of your favorite stout but no six-packs. You get idea.
Now hold your horses. This also isn’t some get-together where you tell your friends and then people fill my house like it’s an 80s movie. Kelly LeBrock wouldn’t be showing up the next morning with her science magic to put the furniture back in place. However, I may put on Oingo Boingo. I may also channel John Huges, maybe Ferris Bueller would be on the TV.
Before I go full-tilt with this kinda thing and decide to *actually* do it, is anybody interested?
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There’s an Italian mobster that lives up the street from me. He looks Italian but maybe he’s Greek. I’ve never talked to him but we’ve exchanged waves at the communal mailbox. I have a theory that he’s in the witness protection program although I don’t have proof to back that up. After seeing him mow his lawn I suspect he doesn’t like egg noodles and ketchup.
His daughter is Egyptian. Well, one year for Halloween she was dressed up as a pharaoh so I don’t know if that actually qualifies her as being a true Egyptian.
Anyway, this morning we both left for work at roughly the same time. He followed me out of our neighborhood, down Division Street, up along the Fox River, across the Prairie Street bridge, and then… He turned north on 1st Street toward Blue Goose[1] and I continued west on Prairie.
During our minor caravan I thought for sure he was tailing me. He probably was. Maybe there’s a hit out on me, I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to wait until we were side-by-side and then give me a manila envelope with crop forecasts for orange juice.
But he didn’t.
And that avid readers, is the end of the story.
Ye old anti-climatic climax.
But wait, the real story is that sometimes we can be going down a certain path, have a good feeling that something extraordinary is about to happen. And then the story ends. That lottery ticket ends up in the trash with all the others. We don’t get a leg up on the frozen OJ market and live out our lives on a tropical beach.
Okay fine, I can get sucked into the “what I have is not enough” and more[2] as much as the next Clarence Beeks or that there’s something missing and only if I could get the right hair cut then I’d be truly blessed.
However, to be truly and fundamentally happy in this very moment, we’ll never go wrong with simply appreciating what we have. Plus, we can always take action to make things happen rather than plodding along waiting for the universe to hand us our next winning lottery ticket.
When I do win the cosmic lottery it feels unlike anything else, the clouds have parted and the heavens rain magic down upon me. Flashy, life changing miracles only make me want more of them. They promote the good feeling that there’s something more to life than just “this.” But really, enjoying the simple miracle of what’s right in front of me pays overall higher dividends. It’s sustainable, too, something I can do every day regardless if I’m driving to work or tying my shoes. Granted, driving the same route to work can get more than mundane and maybe that’s why I tend to day dream.
But my point is that it’s not very often our cosmic path takes a life changing turn. Life just continues on as it always has and we’re only left with what we’ve always had. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes our courses don’t need corrected. What we have now is enough.[3]
In related news, on my way to work the only parking lot I see that’s consistently plowed is the liquor store on the corner of Prairie and 14th Street. Your call if that’s fortuity.
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Somehow Blue Goose generally works its way into my local stories. I don’t know why. It’s not on purpose as I don’t have a paid shoutout gig with the neighborhood grocery store. Maybe it’s simply because it’s the friendliest store in town. ↑
As an example: Doing more, more, more ↑
Or is it? Who doesn’t want a fairy tale? ↑
jimi hindrance experience
· Feb 19, 2018 at 1:23 pm
I don’t get the Clarence Beeks reference. I googled him and remember the character but I don’t understand his significance.
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tcr!
· Feb 19, 201

Remember that one time when you were younger? When nobody could f**k with you?
Because everything had fallen into place. Because all the dots connected. Maybe your best friend was there.
It doesn’t matter who you were with or how or when you got there. But that was it.
That was the moment when you rose above the b******t and realized you were more than what you had always felt. It was like your soul f*****g exploded, that you had a force field around you, and f*****g nothing could get through.
That time still exists. Right now. Look around. No matter what, nobody can f**k with you. Not that dude on your right. Or that lady on your left. That lion that’s about to eat you? F**k him. He can’t do s**t to you either.
Because that’s who you are. You’re un-fuckable with. That’s a thing. That’s your thing.
Somebody f**k with you yesterday? F**k ‘em. It won’t happen again. Because nobody can f**k with you now. Not today, not tomorrow.
From here on out remember that, know that. Feel that. Be that. It’s who you are.
Nobody can f**k with you.
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I hate when I go to throw something away and then just end up throwing it on the floor. I mean, what the hell is this? It’s not like I’m threading the space needle shuttle in the vacuum of outer space.
And then I forgot to put a dryer sheet in with my clothes so when I pulled them from the dryer, they all looked as if they were made from the hide of the great northern yeti.
A now there’s 50 more pound a snow outside.
I’m going back to bed.
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tcr!
· Feb 11, 2018 at 8:49 am
The good news is that while searching for “thread the space shuttle needle” because I think that’s a thing people at NASA but I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, I stumbled on this:
https://www.rubylane.com/item/195824-JPx204136/Vintage-Atomic-Space-Ship-Sewing-Needle
Straight from 1950s Japan, 6 inches when closed!
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And then there was that one time when one of my brothers called me out of the blue. I hadn’t talked to him in close to three years and we were just catching up, talking about a whole lot of nothing. And then without warning or skipping a beat or barely pausing for a breath, he asked me if, when we all lived together, if I had slept with his girlfriend.
Oh 😬
I wasn’t taken completely off guard as I stood in the kitchen with the phone up to my ear. I knew that this day was coming but still, somethings you can never truly prepare for.
I hesitated for a moment and then said “yes” and that I was sorry. Relationships are sacred and I played a part in destroying one of his. I didn’t really want to say anything to him, own that dreadful behavior but I confessed because he deserved an honest answer. He deserved me being accountable to him right then and there. Plus, lying makes me crazy and being honest keeps me sane.
After he heard my confession he kinda acted like it wasn’t a big deal but I could tell that his feelings were hurt. Getting confirmation for something you knew all along was true often doesn’t make you feel any better. Mostly it just makes you feel worse.
You maybe wondering why I hadn’t made my amends to him sooner. I have a fairly simple answer. It had been over 10 years since the three of us had lived together and I had only seen him one time since, maybe in 1999. Just in passing really. There are certain subjects where one needs to wait until the time is right. Carelessly blurting out secrets of this magnitude can be just as reckless and as hurtful as whatever crime has been committed.
And yeah, I could’ve called or written him a letter since we lived in different states but I wanted to talk with him face-to-face. I felt he deserve that, that physical closeness. I wanted him to see the real remorse and regret in my eyes, the pain in my heart for what I had done to him, the pain I had caused. So when he called in 2002 and asked me point blank, I knew it was time.
After I came clean my brother and I’s conversation didn’t last much longer. Hanging up the phone I was filled with sadness, didn’t feel I had his forgiveness. There had only been an admission.
I had admired and looked up to him for much of my life. When we were kids he had never really treated me as an equal. Older brothers generally don’t, but when he had invited me to come live with them I felt that had all changed. Like I was one of his peers. And then I had let him down. Well, more than that. I had broken his heart.
My ex-wife was in the next room and she had heard most of our phone call. She could tell that I was rattled when she came into the kitchen. I told her what the scoop was, what I had done. She was supportive and understanding, said all the things one should say…but I always wondered how much of those few moments had changed her perception of me.
Anyways, another decade and more have passed and I’ve let most of my guilt go. I pray that god heals him in time just as god has healed me as well. I hope he finds his peace but also know he has his own share of demons in the basement to deal with. And most of them have nothing to do with me.
I’ve only talked to him one other time since that particular phone call, sometime in 2011 I think. He called me from a payphone drunk and obnoxious, yelling at people passing him by on the street. I was embarrassed for him. And it’s hard for me to admire him anymore. Even more so when between rants he angrily said to me, “What, are you too good to talk to me anymore?”
I ended that conversation by hanging up on him. Part of being restored to sanity means realizing I don’t have to tolerate abuse from someone in the present just because I hurt them in the past.
Mostly, I do feel as if I have peace with my brother now. I’ve came to terms with my part in all of

Question posted to Facebook:
Just got stood up for an 8am conference call. Any suggestions for punishments for the offending party?
My answer:
I just like to stay on the call even when nobody shows up. I relax, have a nice cup of tea for an hour or so. Enjoy the silence. Wonder what I'm getting for my birthday this summer. Wonder why I still think about my birthday presents at this age. Sometimes I'll even check the expiration date on my Hot Tamales. Have you ever had a stale Hot Tamale? Don't bother with them. They're the worst.
Abandoned conference calls are one of those rare moments in life when you get a freebie. Like when you pull into a parking spot where the previous guy over paid. You have an hour, all expenses paid trip to wherever you wanna go. Nothing can touch you because you’re booked for that time slot. And then when your boss asks “how was the call” you can say, “Pretty low-key. No real action items on my end.”
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The scene is my work desk. I'm eating cashew, almond, and cranberry trail mix. One of the cranberries jumped from the cup. I saw it happen but didn't hear the landing. After a mildly-extensive berry-hunt the fruit-trail gone-went cold. I cannot find the little a*****e. I fear I may be walking around with a cranberry stuck on my ass for the rest of the day.
I'm gonna power down my computer. Pack up my snacks, shave my head, braid my beard. Leave these snow covered lands and move to Island of Misfit Toys. Live out my days with the rest of the freaks.
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I picked Maggie up from her mom's and on a whim we did a quick, off the cuff podcast in my truck on the way back home.
There's some background noise but that's what happens when you're recording while driving 45 mph. And yes, she was holding the phone and not me. Safety first kids.
Also, neither of us had prepared for this. Spontaneity in all its glory.
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This showed up on my timeline just a little bit ago.
So Facebook “noticed” I unfriended somebody. I highly doubt if they just “noticed” anything. They KNOW our every move people. They track and follow said movements even when we’re not on their website or using their apps.
These social media overlords go so far as having shadow accounts of people that don’t have real, actual Facebook accounts. Oh yeah, it’s true. Your dead cousin who died back in 1996? Yep, he’s on Facebook but only FB knows this. Well, Instagram knows, too.
So they both know he was your cousin and that you guys went to Guacamole once for Spring Break. That’s what happens when you upload your contact list to Facebook. Don’t ever do that again.
“Noticed” — ha. They make it sound like Wimpy just noticed a hamburger on Tuesday. Facebook don’t just “notice” s**t. They prob predicted I was gonna unfriend Sally days before I even considered it. They got their Machine Learning™ that studies who and how often I unfriend people and then use the algorithms to tie it all back to my dead cousin, Vinny.
Next their post says, “This means that they’ll no longer be able to see…” What am I five? I know what the hell happens when I unfriend someone. That’s why I unfriended them.
And then that last sentence, “Don’t worry, we won’t tell them that you’ve unfriended them.”
I’m surprised they didn’t throw in, “but we could.”
Just like when Luiz coulda ripped Blu's throat out but didn’t…
youtube.com/watch?v=xCHSWEx6iX0
…but he coulda.
And finally, this team should change their name from “The Facebook Help Team” to the “Facebook Hamburger Helper Team” — at least that’d make more sense.
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tcr!
· Feb 2, 2018 at 3:05 pm
And what’s with those blue rubber gloves with the finger tips cut off?
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Kidding aside, I mean what I say when I talk and write to people.
I try to be clear when I'm kidding but sometimes they don’t get it. Then I feel bad. Sometimes it’s understood when I’m joking but generally it isn’t with people I don’t know.
I do my best to be honest and direct. When something’s important I try to keep it short and to the point. Getting wordy can and usually does add confusion.
Sometimes I dance around a subject because I’m nervous. Worried about another’s reaction. Hopefully I’ll get there, get at what I’m trying to say.
When it’s obvious the other person is nervous I try to be patient and understanding. I don’t like being in their shoes anymore than they do.
Kidding aside again, I also take what other people say at face value and steer clear of reading more into it than I should. I don’t look for subliminal messages or other clues. I’m not Indiana Jones over here. I try to keep the paranoia on the shelf. It’s better for me not to be polishing my delusions and let them get dusty instead.
However, sometimes I take what somebody said the wrong way and then spend too much time up in my head. Then I act differently, change my behaviors and my attitudes toward them. And then later I find out that I was being just a little bit too neurotic and then feel like an ass.
Sometimes I just don’t like the response I get from people. Sometimes it hurts my feelings. People aren’t always going to shower me with goodwill and compliments. I need to hear both “yes” and “no” to be a complete human being.
More often than not what another is saying is apparent. But maybe not. Sometimes I don’t understand exactly what they mean. Then I ask questions so I can.
Sometimes people expect me to read between the lines. I’m not good at that.
“I was dropping hints!”
Well, okay but I’m dense. It’s too easy to make assumptions and make mistakes. My longstanding, most prominent fiascos have miscommunication swirling around in there somewhere.
This isn’t directed at anyone because that would render pretty much everything I just wrote as false. When I write things like this it’s to help clarify things for me. Set goals, set bars that I want to reach. Outline the plan of who I want to be.
Once I learned that I need to be less of a mind reader and more of a good communicator, my relationships got 100% better. I freed up so much more time to enjoy them rather than trying to win, rather than trying to figure everything out.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Feb 3, 2018 at 2:04 pm
Jacob wrestled the demon…
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jimi hindrance experience
· Feb 3, 2018 at 2:06 pm
This is a quote from a U2 song but they’re referencing the old testament about a guy who wrestled his demons and ultimately won out over them.
Fight the good fight and you’ll inspire everybody.
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tcr!
· Feb 4, 2018 at 10:07 am
Thought demons are of the worst variety.
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In the mid 2000s I made and hung this in our kitchen. Because I’m an a*****e.
I never really think (or have thought) about anybody else.
Like if I have four hours of no responsibility I will sit and play video games for four hours. I won’t call anybody, I won’t go see anybody. I’ll just do my own thing.[1] And it’s not like that hate people or whatever. I honestly just don’t think about them when I'm full of me.
Sure, when I was a kid, teenager, 20 something I would call people and wander over to their houses because I wanted to see them. But everything was just based around what I wanted to do. It wasn’t up until a few years ago when I started thinking outside of just “my box.” And trust me I still don’t always think outside of me all the time or by default.
Isolating from other people really kicked in when I got married. I would just hang out with my ex-wife and the girls. My life’s dynamic changed from being single and stealing wheelchairs to being a homebody.[2]
But still even being a husband and a dad, most of what I did at home was centered around me and what I wanted to do. Okay, not all of it but if I didn’t have anything to be responsible for I was off doing my own thing or finding something on TV that I wanted to watch.
Here’s a good example.
After the girls were in bed I never said to my ex-wife, “Let’s watch show X because I know you like that one.” Sure, I would watch her shows but the thing is: it was never my idea. I never said to the girls, “let’s go eat at restaurant X because that’s your mom’s favorite place.”
Fine, it would be my idea if it was Mother’s Day but that’s a bunch of s**t. It’s the days that aren’t holidays, the days that aren’t special — those are the ones count.
It was even more horrible when I was drinking. “I’m gonna go get donuts for us this morning.” That was really code for “I’m hungover and going to the liquor store. And after I’ve took 2-3 healthy shots just to mute the fires of hell, I’ll bring back a box of random donuts.”
Brief aside.
Spiritual? Humble? Me? You’d be humble if you were me, too. If you wanted to make breakfast for your family, because you’d changed, because you realized sitting by yourself in “your box” was kinda lonely — and then nobody was home.
No, I’m not coming down on myself or feeling like I f****d everything up. I’ve came to terms with falling down in life. It’s more like after reading Mark Manson’s article[3] on loss I was doing some self-evaluation. It’s good for me to do spot checks on my behaviors lest I go down to the basement in the morning and then come back up when it’s dark. And didn’t even know the sun had came and went.
Maybe it’s just how men are wired, too. Hunting, gathering, and gaming in the basement while the women are nesting and making dinner for the family. I never made dinner for the family when I was married. Well, I used to make pies every Sunday night but it wasn’t because I was making banana cream for us as a family to enjoy. I was making it because I like pies, like making pies, and like eating said pies.
But seriously though.
Sometimes Maggie’s with her mom for the weekend and I’m home alone and then because I’m real good at thinking, I think about stuff. A lot. And again, not in the self-deprecating kinda way but more in the “here’s my part in a series of blundering events and moving forward I’d rather not repeat ye blunderings.”
And yes, life can still be all about me. It’s my life and I have things I want to do, shows I want to watch, ad nauseam but my takeaway after my last great loss is that other people are what counts. Messaging someone, asking if I can come over just to see them, just to hang out, well that gives me a good feeling that finishing the next level in my video game never did.

A few years back someone by the name of Floyd inadvertently gave my cell number to his insurance agent. And then that domino’ed into my number getting on every insurance company’s call list.
I’ve tried being nice to them, tried asking them to put me on their DO NOT call list. I’ve tried being mean, tried being funny, tried all sorts of things to get them to just stop. I even told them for a while that Floyd was dead and didn’t need insurance anymore.
But once you get on any kind of insurance call or mailing list, you’re screwed. You might as well throw your phone in a dumpster, shave your head, and go live the monkeys. It won’t matter that you’re not Floyd. They’ll find you and call you from Troy, NY and from Arlington, MA and from La Grange, IL and from even from La Habra, CA.
Same goes for car dealerships. I get about five emails a week asking if I want to renew the manufacturer’s warranty for the Nissan Cube I bought in 2011. They’ll even throw in a free oil change. I don’t even own the Cube anymore. Last sales guy that called me, I told him that Cube was the biggest piece of s**t I’d ever owned.
Please note: this is why I never answer my cell phone. Even if the caller ID says that you’re in my contacts, I won’t believe it. One time an incoming call came up with my mom’s number and it turned out to be Jaclyn Smith. Okay, that’s a lie but man, did you guys ever watch her in Charlie's Angels? Never mind, Jaclyn has nothing to do with Floyd.
I looked up Floyd once on my lunch break. I can’t remember his last name but I do remember that he is/was a doctor. Dr. Floyd. Probably watching Netflix and filing out a GEICO car insurance quote and then typo’ed his cell number. That’s the kinda thing that happens when all your appointments get filled for the day and you throw a fit.
I don’t know if Dr. Floyd is still alive or not. He’s dead to me. Him and the insurance he rode in on.
Anyways, below is a script I tend to use if I’m feeling feisty and an unknown caller rings me for Floyd.
Season to taste but use your best southern goofball accent:
“Floyd? Well no, Floyd can’t come to the phone right now. He’s over in county lockup. He’s framed a course. He didn’t steal those 12 quarts a syrup like Randy said. He knew about Randy’s plan ahead a time but jus knowin’ don’t make ya a maple thief!
I don’t really blame ol’ Randy for wanting to steal all that syrup. Boy, I do like that, that syrup from the Walmart.”
If the caller is still with me I continue with:
“Well hell, ya probably jus wanna talk with Floyd. If ya got a pen I can give you his address over at county.
What was your name again? Ya sound familiar. Were ya at the Earlville Country Club last weekend?”
PS- If I go off on a Charlie's Angels tangent for a few days, this is why.
PS×2- instagram.com/helloitsjaclyn/
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tcr!
· Jan 23, 2018 at 3:46 pm
Looks like Floyd is looking to expand his doctoral operations out west 🤔
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I would guess there’s been 5-10 relationships I’ve had with people where I've written them off. And I’m not talking about small relationships either. These are like personal relationships that have lasted for years.
And I wrote these people off because I had hurt them or they had hurt me and then it just went back-and-forth like some f****d up game of spiteful volleyball.
Then usually there came a point where I’d had enough, where I was done with it. It didn’t matter if I would see them every day it or not. The relationship was sour as far as I was concerned. Even if they tried to make it better I was like, “F**k you and your goodwill. That bridge is burnt.”
Writing people off has just always been my go-to thing. People don’t change. They generally just keep being the assholes that they’ve always been.
So there’s somebody in my life now that I’d written off as well. Too many spiked volleyballs and I was tired of getting hit in the face with synthetic leather by some ass who needed to be right at all costs.
Deep down to my toes didn’t care anymore. And I’m sure it was obvious to him. I don’t want to come across as arrogant and say that he was all in the wrong but as far as I’m concerned he was. There’s some dysfunctional humans populating the planet. And plenty of them commit wrong over and over again.
Not long back Sara gave me the seeds of seeing him as a human, faults and all. But I wasn’t there yet. I was holding on to my hurt and frustration because I wasn’t done with it. We were still on opposite sides of the net and I hate sand in my sandals. We can’t force acceptance. It comes on its own. Generally after I’m finished processing and have washed my feet.
So in my interactions with him in the here-and-now I can see that he’s trying to be a better person, get beyond his own shortcomings, his own downfalls and the like. Being who I am, or who I can be, up until this point I was like “good for you” with all the mental sarcasm you can imagine. I’m suspicious by default, been burned^10 by the man holding flowers the day after he smacked you with a switch.
Minor tangent that plays a part in all of this: I’ve been keeping all of my email since 2002. I like history. I like nostalgia. And I’ve had some powerful, healing conversation over that medium.
For whatever reason yesterday I was reading an email Jimi sent me in 2012. It said something along the lines of his missing ingredient had been forgiveness. I’ve written about forgiveness before. It’s no secret that it’s powerful medicine for the sick, salted soul.
I can come across as all holy and spiritual…but make no mistake, I haven’t mastered anything. After learning how intolerant I can be I’m sure the monks would kick me out before nightfall.
Alexa, play Somewhat Damaged by NIN. Volume a billion.
Okay, so here’s the real story...
Yesterday, early evening the written-off guy left me a voicemail. I listened to it and immediately went into “I’m not taking time to even knowledge this” mode. Silent, bitter disgust in all its glory.
But then this morning what Jimi had wrote via email was still lingering in my thoughts. It struck a chord this time. Unlike it did back in 2012.
So earlier today, without putting too much thought into it because I think way too much, I sent my antagonist a follow up email. I answered his questions and even made a little joke. On the weekend. When I usually like my alone time to be all about me and my pursuits.
Grace has been gifted to me by the cosmos. Numerous times. I believe it’d be good for me to regift as well.
And now I feel good, feel spiritual, feel burdenless. Like the feeling when you carry six bags of groceries in from the car and finally set them down on the kitchen floor. What a relief not to be lugging all that around any more.
I feel

I’ll get to the picture in a minute. The real question is why am I having 2 to 3 bowel movements a day on average? Is it my diet? My posture? My sleep schedule? My collection of fine leather pirate boots?
I’m just kidding. I don’t poop that often. Really, it's none of your business.
But what I’m not kidding about is the phrase “bowel movement.” The next time I hear someone utter those two words together I’m gonna lose it. And then puke.
Nobody should say that ever. You either poop or you take a s**t. And which you do depends on the urgency.
I even had to school my dentist on this fact. Well, I didn’t really but I will if the situation ever comes up.
My mom used to say it to me all the time when I was a kid. Because she’s a nurse. And that’s what they do. But it’s 2018 so stop saying that. Everybody.
That phrase is too many syllables for kids anyways. They just wanna take a dump (that works, too) and get back to playing Berserk on Atari. They don’t ever want to know what’s going on inside their bodies — if it’s the bowels or the intestines or any of that other internal plumbing. They got kid stuff to do.
Now then. As to why I tore apart the top of my stove in a cleaning OCD fit on a Friday night after work... I have no idea. I guess that’s what you do when you’re me.
And then in the middle of my scrub frenzy I gotta poop and I’ll be damned if these two horrible words didn’t pop into my head like Satan from the bowels of Hell. So I want to put an end to all of that.
I’m not knocking my mom or the other healthcare professionals. Those are the kind of things that they say. And if they want to continue to say them, they should do it within the confines of their workspace.
Leave us normal people to poop in peace.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Jan 26, 2018 at 9:52 am
Since I don’t know when, I have used “powder my nose”. It gets the rednecks right by their knecks and even my die hards will still raise an eyebrow. If I’m especially feelin’ it, I will let fly with a “tinkle” or “potty” just to keep men honest.
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tcr!
· Jan 27, 2018 at 7:31 am
That’s a good one. I don’t think I ever make a formal announcement. One of the ex’s insisted that all affairs of this nature should remain private to the person in charge. The session manager if you will.
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I can only feel hurt and blame someone else for so long.
And after that time is over I have to either say something or let it go. I don’t have the right to hold onto my hurt for years if I’m not gonna do anything about it. Not doing anything other than hurting, well, it’s not fair to the other person and it’s definitely not fair to me.
Living with that hurt keeps me from being the best me that I can be. That hurt stands in the way of all of my relationships.
There’s a lot to be said for saying something out loud. When things are up in my head I can’t make sense of them. My thoughts are like a whirlpool or tornado. Or both. They’re just going around and around and they don’t make any sense. My emotions are all muddy and I can’t get the clarity to know up from down.
I don’t sit with things very long in the here-and-now because I’ve learned that life lesson. That I’m only going to be hurting myself and most likely innocent bystanders by not speaking up.
Also, I never write something in hopes that someone else will read it. That misses the point of everything I just wrote.
Just go talk to him →
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When I was driving to work this morning a sheriff’s car was behind me in the other lane. As we approached the intersection on Randall and 64 the stoplight turned yellow. I slowed down and stopped because I’m sure the sheriff had his eye on me. And of course my license plates are expired.
So then the sheriff gunned his car and blew through the red light. No sirens, no lights, just horsepower. Whether or not he was within his law enforcement privileges to do such isn’t important to what I’m writing here.
What is relevant is that at one time in my life I would’ve thought to myself, “Eff’ing cops.”
But I don’t think that way anymore. There are only policemen. Some are good, some are bad. Just because one guy does something doesn’t mean that I should throw out the whole lot.
Just the same, I don’t think of the “damn Mexicans” anymore. Nor do I think of the “stupid white boys” or the “blood sucking lawyers” or the “strung out crackheads” or the “christian zealots” or even the “soccer moms.”
Taking time to know people from those groups, talking with them, learning about their lives and struggles, wins and loses — all of that — has only made my life better. It’s made me a bigger person, bigger than the small town cracker I was growing up in Iowa.[1]
Okay fine, we can categorize people. There may be some truths in stereotypes. But there’s a difference between that and judging people, condemning a whole race or social group.
I don’t know about you guys but I don’t like being lumped into a group because of what somebody else did or didn’t do. I want to be judged based on who I am and what I do.
At the end of the day we’re all just humans. You’ll find good and bad in any group. I want to look for the good. I’ll never go wrong with seeing people as individuals and making new friends.
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See what I did there? I called myself a cracker…but not everybody in every rural town in Iowa. ↑
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And then there was that one time maybe six or seven years ago when I ate a Snickers fun-size and hid the wrapper under Maggie’s pillow.
And then at bedtime when we found it and she was horrified of being convicted of a crime she didn’t commit, after she had time to process and I confessed, she thought it was funny.
And she still does. Because I asked her about it earlier tonight before dinner.
“And you tried to frame me!! 😆”
And when I’m thinking about it now while she’s doing her homework, I think that her mom and I must’ve done something right.
And finally... something I heard or read once always keeps me pointed in the right direction: as parents our job is to make memories for our kids.
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And then there was that one time (yesterday) that I was thinking pretty much everyone I meet and know in the here and now aren’t dicks. It’s a big shift in my perspective.
When I was younger I used to believe that most people were assholes but then as I was thinking more yesterday, I realized my thoughts had changed. For the better. More than likely I just remembered the assholes, too, that they made more of an impression on me. Because they were obnoxious. And I was real good at that whole focusing on the negative instead of the positive thing. Over and over again.
Your 90s heroes, Bush, sang “I’m addicted to b******t” way back when. I can relate to that. “Addicted” is a pretty strong word but b******t was what I knew.
Anyways, along the same lines, we find what we’re looking for and having a clearer mind at the moment, I can honestly say that the people I encounter now are decent, caring human beings. Doing their best to make the world a better place. Doing more than they have to in life.
Not that they go full-tilt, Mother Teresa kinda s**t, but they do just a little bit more than required. Just a little bump extra. And that’s what makes all the difference in people’s lives. Going full-tilt can burn me out. It’s better if I just do a little bit more, be a litte bit more each day.
In the same song Bush also sang “it’s all the little things that kill.” But wait, the little things can make the world pretty awesome, too.
Another big part to all of this is the people I hang out with. Not too many unsavory types these days. Regardless of what the magnet says, “like” can and also attract “like.”
I’m grateful for my friends, you guys. Just knowing all of you makes me a better person.
And to quote that same song one final time, “bigger you give, bigger you get.”
I wanna be big today and all of you help me get there. Watching you give, inspires me to.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02K82uw4lio
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I'm overly fond of how they worded all of AA's Twelve Steps.Case in point: the 11th Step.
Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.-- Step 11 of Alcoholics Anonymous
It doesn’t say that we pray in the morning and meditate in the afternoon or whatever. It says that we continued to seek, it doesn’t say when or where or how. The reason they didn’t put it on a schedule is because some people might work the third shift.
It’s really that simple. It’s not up to me to assume that everybody else’s life is just like mine and they need to work the steps just as I do.
Sometimes I kneel when I pray. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes my prayers last five seconds and sometimes they’re extended. Sometimes all my heart and soul are in them. Sometimes I’m just mouthing the words. That’s okay. Because I’m praying.
I never sit Indian style with my hands on my knees and meditate either. That doesn’t work for me. I either end up falling asleep or thinking about something nonsensical. And the point of meditation for me is to quiet my mind. To listen. To not to have all the crazy monkey chatter going on. Just shut it all down and let my thoughts come and go as they please.
The only way that I can do that for long is to have some meaningless, mind-numbing task to do. Maybe I’ll meditate when I’m folding laundry or doing dishes or cutting the grass or just riding my bike.
It doesn’t matter. However I do it is fine so long as I continue to do it. "Continue" and "sought" are the first two keywords in the 11th Step.
Only seeking God’s will when I pray is also important. One of my most often prayers in early recovery was:
“God, I don’t care what happens just help me accept it.”
Prayers for me don’t work. Prayers for God’s will do. They keep me focused. They keep me out of what I want and in what’s really important.
And after I pray I meditate. Sometimes only for a moment, sometimes more. I put myself out there and I need to be open to the cosmos sending something back.
God speaks to us. Directly. It took me a long time to let go of the notion that God is separate from us. That God’s somewhere else, far away. But I don’t believe that God is anymore. I believe that God is here. Right here. Right now. With me, with each of us. In this very room. Or wherever you’re reading this.
Quiet your mind and feel the presence. We’re never alone. Tune out the static. It’s irrelevant. Embrace the peace.
You deserve it.
PS- The plant in the picture is an amaryllis. I got it from Trader Joe's.
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If you're not familiar with AA's Twelve Steps, don't worry none. Just follow along and you'll get the gist.
When I worked Step One I was in horrible, emotional pain. Nightmarish pain that’d wake me up at night. Day in and day out pain unlike anything I’d felt in my life.
And that pain was with me up until after I’d worked my Fifth Step. Then after Step Seven I started to really feel that peace, that everything was gonna be okay. That overwhelming and underlying good feeling that comes from walking a spiritual path.
When I started making my Eighth Step list I wasn’t motivated by pain so much anymore to finish the steps. I was motivated because I wanted something more than what I’d always had in life. I wanted more of the happiness that I’d been given. I was still willing to do whatever it took to stay sober but the willingness came from a different place.
For maybe half of my life I’ve been unhappy. Discontent with how my life was going, what I was doing. Sitting where I do now I know that unhappiness is on me. Sure, I was just doing what I knew how to do but I’d made myself miserable. I wanted something more from life and I knew that making the Eighth Step list and making my Ninth Step amends would help change fundamentally who I was. I’m passive in life and stepping outside of myself, going beyond my limitations was something I knew I could do. And it all started with asking god for help. And being willing, of course.
...
So when I got home from work today I tried to take a nap but I just couldn’t rest for whatever reason. I went downstairs and the cats were yelling because their food bowl wasn’t full enough. Then the robot vacuum tangled itself up in the Christmas tree skirt and was about to tumble down the stairs.
With not getting a nap and the cats and the vacuum, I was losing my patience. Ugh. Plus, I hadn’t had dinner yet.
So then I’m eating cereal and trying to read my meditation books, snap me out of whatever funk I’m in. I picked up the first one and rolled my eyes. Ya, I know about that. I picked up the second one and was like, “f**k I’ve read all of this before.”
I felt like the disgruntled person that I’d been most of my life. Restless, frustrated, and overall just discontent.
When I picked up the third one it’s about a caterpillar on a leaf. YES. It sounded a straightforward bell, something simple that I could latch onto. A concept without complex thoughts and overly wordy spiritual truths.
So the caterpillar spends much of his life eating the same leaves, day in and day out. But then something happens and it grows into something more, it turns into a butterfly. It can fly wherever it wants, sample the sweet nectar from a whole world of flowers. It’s not limited to the leaves that it’s always had. It’s been graced with a newly found freedom.
It got me thinking that I can eat the same leaves I always have. I can have my same life. I can be constantly frustrated and throwing my hands up in the air. Or I can let go and do something different. Be something different. I can be a fruity butterfly.
I got on my knees afterward and prayed, asked God for help, help me live that better kind of life. That I know about.
After I said my prayers the cats came over, trying to love on me. And then I gave them some love back. Life’s just not about me. When I get outside of myself and do for others, life takes on a new meaning. One that feels full.
Even though I’ve been sober I still need to pray for willingness, still need to pray for help. It’s that old saying that “just because I got sober doesn’t mean I get to stay sober.” Sometimes the dysfunction kicks in and I just want to give up, hide from my responsibilities, and not deal with life.
But really I don’t want that life anymore though. I’m willing to do whatever it takes just like I became willing t

As I lay here in bed before I get up to make coffee I was enjoying the morning glow.
Sometimes I’ll get just a glimmer of something in life and think, “I want more of that!”
But then I’ll sit around and wait for the universe to give it to me.
And then before I know it the glow is gone and I’m sad that I missed out.
Sure, I’m blessed with many things in life but often times I need to get up and open the curtain if I want to stand in the sunlight.
The sun is coming up, peeps. And it’s shining just for you.
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Not long after my ex-wife moved out I couldn’t stand to be in the house alone in the morning. Like after Maggie went to school the stillness was unbearable. I couldn’t wait to leave to go to work.
Now that almost two years have past I’m sitting in the family room, just watched Maggie get on the school bus, and physically I’m in the same place but emotionally I’m a 1,000,000 miles away. I’ve made the house my own, got rid of furniture, replaced it with new things, and now I’m okay just being here by myself in the morning.
In fact, I really don’t want to go to work this morning. I’d rather sit and dink around with the Christmas lights than drive my work desk.
Anyways, we make it through the hard times. Let go of what once was and embrace what now is. The pain of the present becomes the fading memories of yesterday.
If we do the right things for the right reasons, when all is said and done we’ll be okay.
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However...
I don’t like anything touching my feet. Except socks. Or other footwear. I don’t even touch my own feet. Unless I have to.
I won’t look at my belly button. It’s on its own as far as I’m concerned.
About 18 months ago I threw away every Q-tip in my house. I won’t even say their name out loud.
At least once a week I think about shaving my eyebrows. But I don’t because I have an office to go to every workday.
Every workday I eat one banana and one apple. Sometimes when I get home I’ll have another apple but never another banana.
I won’t use forks or spoons in any bowls unless they’re made of plastic. Not the flatware but the bowl itself.
I use my bedroom closet for miscellaneous storage and keep all of my clothes in a basement closet. Because that’s where the washer and dryer are.
That’s the shortlist.
What have you got?
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOpQjD-rX0g
Peeps, here’s your the-gate-is-straight Friday jam.
Listening to The Doors when I was 9 and 10 opened up my musical world so much more than bands like the Beatles did. Don’t get me wrong, I love yellow submarines as much as the next u-boat commander but I met the darkly cool poet persona in songs like The End and Waiting for the Sun. I became all too familiar with the torture of losing friends, and of longing for closure when I was a teenager.
Hearing Morrison sing, “waiting for you to tell me what went wrong” still resonates with me as much as it did when I was in junior high. I could relate to that so much more than when Lennon and McCartney sang, “I wanna hold your hand.” I never held girls’ hands in school.
Along with the vocals and lyrics in Break on Through, the gritty distorted guitar, the vox continental organ, the bossa nova drums always remind me of driving, accelerating, smashing through whatever it is that keeps me locked up inside myself.
Powerful stuff when you’re a kid.
Anyways, put on some headphones, find your other side. 😊
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In follow up to tonight's earlier PechaKucha Night in Batavia
This lady was eating popcorn with complete disregard for public safety
I was sitting in a room full of people that obviously have the same kind of interests that I do. But I didn’t know anybody. So I did the next rational thing which is to get on my phone, post on Facebook, and visit the event website. For some reason I had it in the back of my mind this was all related to anime or Pokémon or something.[1]
I was quite wrong. It’s more akin to TED Talks but it gives everyone a chance to present. “Great!” I thought non-sarcastically.
I read more from the FAQ. This Q/A stood out:
Is PechaKucha Night a social network?
We believe there is nothing social about online social networks, so get out from behind your screen and get to a live event, with real people, real communication…
Oh.
So there I was at a live event, reading from the event website that I should put down my phone and socialize.
This is a tricky scenario for me. I don’t do well in groups of people, even more so when I don’t know the humans. It’s part of the story when I relapsed. I want to hang out with other like-minded people but group settings make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Overstimulated. Like I’m in a swimming pool and there’s constant splashing. And too many people talking. And I have water in my ears. And there’s beach balls flying around. And I’m trying to keep myself from drowning. Maybe it’s not exactly like that but it’s close.
Drinking makes social gatherings easier. It lubes the conversations with people I don’t know. It feels like I’m wearing a life jacket when I drink. It takes the edge off. And I have too many edges. Too much shame and too many bullies when I was a kid or something. I doubt if I’ll ever feel confident or at ease in public.
And then also drinking makes me feel normal around other people. Like I fit in then. I’m part of a tribe that I’ve never belonged to. When I relapsed I was in a similar situation, a venue serving alcohol, surrounded by creative people enjoying themselves. And I was out of place. Without social skills. I didn’t know how to swim. And then I got a drink. And then the pool party wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t really a pool party but you get the analogy. And then that one drink last for ten years.
But I wanted to be at tonight’s PechaKucha event, wanted to get to know people in the area other than those in recovery. Not that there’s anything wrong with the latter but I also have a magnetic attraction to another set of people, ones who are artistically passionate. Because we’re similar. Same expressive wavelength. The art makers and art lovers. I’ve got something to say creatively, just as they do.
When I read the “get out from behind your screen” line I knew that I was doing it wrong. So I put my phone away and walked over to the greeter who had taken my money when I came in. I asked her how I could get one of the name badges some people were wearing. The lady told me those people were either helping out with the event or presenting that night. I asked her what time would I get to present. Because when I feel awkward I make jokes. She smiled and told me that I needed to fill out a form and maybe I could present at the next event in February. That was good enough.
I then saw Jaime and his wife across the room. He had invited me so I was happy to see him. And he wasn’t with a group of people. I hate when I feel like I’m standing on the perimeter, waiting for my turn to talk. I won’t even bother with that anymore.
Anyways Jaime, his wife, and I had a nice chat about the event and then meditation which was kinda surprising. But cool. Then the presentations got underway.
I left the event a little early to go to a 12 step meeting. I enjoyed myself at PechaKucha, got a dose

People always say that the 12 steps are in order for a reason. I guess I never really paid that much attention to that statement until after I was in recovery for a year or so. Looking back on my experience with Step 4 I know there's no way in hell that I would've been able to write a searching and fearless moral inventory if I didn't have a concept of God that I believed in. I just wouldn't have.
Writing them was hard (I’ve done two) and I felt all kinds of feelings with the second one. Anger, shame, guilt, regret. Horror. Felt all the things that drinking kept me from feeling. I had burning resentments and sexual traumas. Had broken friendships and ruined relationships. And more.
I needed to pray for the strength to make it through, pray to that God concept each and every time I started writing.[1] All those feelings I’d kept hidden under blankets and in boxes in the basement came up and out. Like boiling bubbles in a stock pot. I was finally feeling what I should’ve been feeling all along when I was drinking. Being in touch with that hideousness forced me to lean on, rely on that Higher Power. Reaffirm my decision to turn my will and life over to the care of God. Remember that a better way of life lay on the other side.
And I was willing to feel and deal with all my monsters if that meant that I didn't have to drink again. If that meant that I didn't have to be the person that I'd become. Be the person that I hated. That I was. I was willing to work the Fourth Step if it meant that I could be somebody new. Be a sober me.
Back in the Second Step it talks about being restored to sanity. Writing the Fourth Step is part of how and when that restoration happens. It’s part of how my life became manageable again.
This step also gives us the freedom to make our inventory however necessary, with the guidance of a sponsor of course. It doesn't even say that we "wrote" it but only that we "made" it. I pay close attention to the wording of the steps as they are the program, they're how we get and stay sober.
As an aside I got into a minor debate once with someone regarding if everyone should actually "write" their inventory. We need our sponsor's input on how we make it and that doesn't always mean that we write it. Why not? If a person is blind or if a person can't read or write, then they need to do what works best for them to make their inventory.
The most important thing is that we make it. Don't complicate or procrastinate.
I was also relived to find out that we don't need to make a complete inventory but only a "searching and fearless" one. I wrote the best one I could at the time and the Tenth Step allows me to self-analyze and follow up on issues later as needed.
And after I put the pen down (because I wrote mine), I realized that doing my Fourth Step hadn't kill me. It was horrible for sure but I made it through with only a deflated ego. And that was one of the best things that needed to happen to this alcoholic.
I also finally got some real relief. The kind of relief that drinking never gave me. Relief at the spiritual level. All of my secrets were no longer secrets, they were out in the open. At least on paper. After carrying around emotional trauma for so long it felt good when I was done.
So I made an inventory the best I could, took a look at the things that were holding me back, that were standing in the way of me being the best me that I could. And I thank God for the help I was given. Without God, I wouldn’t have been able to write those words.
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And not "needed to" because those were the rules. But "needed to" because I needed help. ↑
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Well, not all of it.
And of course it didn’t go completely according to plan. Maggie and I were going to be gone all weekend and I had a time window of about 30 minutes on Friday to do my thing. I wanted to do it in that particular window, too, so the cushions could be drying until I got back home on Sunday afternoon.
When I brought them back in yesterday I wasn’t tickled. There’s a certain elation that I like to feel when a project is done and with the pink cushions I felt none. But I was a smidge hopeful they’d grow on me after I got them back on the couch.
But they didn’t.
The paint was still damp, probably because the temperature has been colder, freezing at night, and so on. And the garage doesn’t have any air flow either. No breeze, no circulation. And no sun light. So the cushions went out into the yard where I was hoping they’d de-fumigate in the afternoon sun and fresh air.
After the sun went down I brought them back in. Still not dry after their four hour sun bath. And still fumey. Maggie noted that it look liked somebody was murdered on our couch, that I could’ve just washed them to try and get the stains out. That’s not how I do things though. There’s this emotional drive, this overwhelming urge to put my stamp on all my stuff. I can’t help it.
And what’s more: when I was painting them I was in a hurry, just trying to cover up the stains. Too much function and barely a drop of form. I didn’t have whimsy fun on my mind nor was I creatively expressing myself. I ran out of fabric paint in a matter of minutes so I resorted to using regular pink spray paint. Because I was gonna get them done in my time allowance. I was determined, focused, and intent. Tunneling down a path and there was no changing course.
And they looked like it when all was said and done, too.
But I knew there was something to Maggie’s thought of putting them in the wash. It might tame them a bit. I’m not above listening to another’s feedback and if there’s something there, if it feels right I’ll act on it.
So off the cushion covers came and down to the laundry room we went. Now normally when I’m being artistic and fancy, I pause and ask the cosmos for guidance. I do this because I f**k s**t up when I do it on my own. Seriously. Even when it comes painting or sculpting or any kind of building, I need to channel the universe’s energy and the like. And back on Friday I was the boss, rushing through the sofa makeover like I was hosing down prisoners.
Anyways, I Spray ‘n Wash®'ed where the stains were, set the washer to whites, added a splash of bleach to the soap, and then waited for the second round of results.
And I’ll be damned if most of the paint didn’t come out along with all of the stains. The covers were 90% perfect.
“Did the spray paint really come out in the wash?” you ask. Yes, almost all of it really did and I suspect it was because the paint wasn’t completely dry and the fabric itself is like a linen, canvas material and not like a cotton t-shirt. Later when I was talking with Sara, she said that the fabric may have been sprayed with a stain-resister, too. Which makes perfect sense.
I washed them one more time to lighten them a bit more and then they were good to go.
So there ya have it. The couch is as exactly as I want it to look. It’s clean with a hint of color just like Albert’s socks. Maybe a little more subdued that I originally planned but more often than not if I let the cosmos be my guide, things will turn out better than I could’ve ever imagined. Be it relationships or careers or spray painting your couch.
There's still one ink stain from a pen on the left but I can live with that for the time being.
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jimi hindrance experience

Guys, there’s a dismantled treadmill on East Side Drive, a little north of Dodson Street here in Geneva, Illinois. I’m assuming it’s free since it’s resting comfortably on the curb.
Whenever I see a treadmill or a stationary bike on the side of the road I think about the soul who drug it out there. The man behind the space-saving but typically heavy machine. The one-time motivated spirit who let go of her dreams of in-home exercise. Wanna talk about walks of shame? That’s one right there. Walking back to your house after publicly abandoning the notion of regular workouts and saved gym membership fees.
I’m no stranger to all of this. My rowing machine is downstairs, folded up in my laundry room. Under an old blanket. In a fitness cocoon if you will. My dreams were more along the lines of hallucinations, too. That I could get my stomach back to when I was a mere twenty-something, drinking sodas and eating donuts without a care in the world.
Anyways, now that I think about the trainer contraption I saw only moments ago, I don’t know exactly what kind of phys-ed machine it was. Remember, it was in pieces. But in any event I’m sure it’ll be there all day. I would’ve taken a picture while driving by but that’s a school zone and the crossing guard was already giving me the evil eye.
Plus, I like to stop in at the 7-11 on State Street at least one morning a week.
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Potato murder - MP4Peeps, I may have asked this before and I may not have. Either way I swung I’m going to ask again.
When dealing with potatoes do you cutout their little eyeballs out or do you ignore them and chow down?
I have to scrub them off myself and if they don’t scrub off I carve them out. Furthermore, if said taters are looking even the slightest bit feisty (and I’m feeling a little neurotic myself), I throw them in the microwave and nuke their starchy, tuberous asses with some electromagnetic radiation. Just like Spencer and his candy bar in the 1940s.
Sure, I can look to WikiLeaks for the answer in how digestible the potato eyes are but I like to have real-time answers from you, my peer group. I’m not really interested in what the Clintons do with their’s or that Ralph Nader listens to soft core, country rap while eating his mashes.
Anyways, as a kid I was trained there were somethings you just don’t eat. Like raw cookie dough. Or cake batter. Or potato eyeballs.
So are these still valid concerns in this modern dietary age? I don’t wanna get salamejitus.
Nobody really does.
And yes, I made the video on my iPhone.
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Sometimes I’m driving along, got something on my mind. And then I get the feeling that whatever I'm thinking about, well, I think that I should be worried about it.
And then I start thinking, “why the hell am I not having a panic attack?” Like this is some serious s**t Why am I not freaking out? People could figuratively die. Even more than that, what will people think of me if this goes south? This could confirm that I am indeed “not enough.”
And then I think that I shouldn't worry, that everything will be okay and things will work out.
And then I second-guess myself, like maybe I’m being cocky.
And then I think maybe this is just how regular people live. They don’t race to work in a state of terror, needing to make sure whatever is causing them panic, the trembling, is fixed and fine.
It feels kinda nice not to live in a constant hysterical state. Even more so when I’m driving. I’ve had most of my panic attacks in the car. Because there was nothing that I could do. In that moment. I was helpless. Had to sit with my emotions. Feel all the bumpers. There was no escape.
Anyways, I don’t have to live with my heart racing. It’s pretty awesome not to.
And even if life does melt down, I can be okay.
Even if my silvery, steel ball needs to slam each and every target before going down the drain.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Dec 8, 2017 at 4:19 am
Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby
Try to keep myself away from me
—-Counting Crows
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Well, I guess there’s nothing that would actually stop me but what are the pros and cons? The ebbs and flows? The ups and downs of such a Jackson Pollock maneuver? Granted he used brushes and had more of a splatter/drip/drop technique with the reds and the blues and the blacks. Also, in his most delightful biographical movie, starring Ed Harris, Pollock did in fact urinate in someone’s fireplace. Which of course I would never do. But still, this isn’t the kind of painting operation your average Home Goods shopper thinks about, let alone strongly considers.
So back to the couch makeover. Before answering, know beforehand I’m not intending to cover the whole couch with spray paint, only accenting the three seat cushions. I was thinking more along the lines of background emphasis, similar to this I'm a Mess t-shirt that I made.
You maybe wondering what kind of fabric the couch has. That is a very good question. It’s a soft linen fabric, white in color. It’s a bit lighter than cream but not a bright white either. It’s lost it’s luster and is kinda drab. I’m not a big fan of drab. I like color. There’s also stains here and there because kids and I’d like to reverse that with some, possibly pink, artistic flare.
Throughout my life adventures I’ve never spray painted such a fabric. Or a couch. Do you think this material is absorbent enough to hold the spray paint? Will the drying time be less than a day? See, I actually do want to use the couch again at some point and don’t want it taking up space as a nonfunctional art piece. I really don’t want to be wearing it.
Also, how long might the cushions smell like paint? I’d rather them not be fuming up the place well into the new year. Thanksgiving is coming up and all and I’d like any and all vapors to have vanished by then. Even though no one‘s coming to my house for Thanksgiving, my cats will be home and I don’t want them high as kitty kites, glossy eyes, silver mouths, that whole bit. I want to avoid them getting hooked on and huffing spray paint, stealing it from the neighbors, and/or whatever the hoodlum alleycats are doing these days. I also don’t want them dead.
You maybe wondering if I’ve inhaled too much paint exhaust as well. I can answer, honestly, that I have not. I simply live alone with my daughter and that affords me the freedom to explore whatever whimsy comes to mind. I have, however, learned throughout my various adventures not to rush into things such as this without first seeking expert upholstery and medical advice beforehand.
Thoughts?
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keamoose
· Nov 12, 2017 at 1:09 am
They make a paint specifically for this purpose:
https://www.michaels.com/fabric-spray-paint/M10117037.html?dwvar_M10117037_color=Glitter
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tcr!
· Nov 12, 2017 at 8:37 am
Perfect! I was ready to use the same paint that I used on your shirt. 🎨 😉
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keamoose
· Nov 12, 2017 at 9:35 am
I haven’t tried it, but I suspect the fabric paint will give a better result for a high-wear area like a couch. You don’t want the paint coming off on people’s clothes. Also it comes in glitter colours, so it’s win-win.
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keamoose
· Nov 12, 2017 at 9:39 am
Ooh. You know what else you could do? Sharpie makes a set of fabric markers. You could illustrate your couch. Just test first, because the ink bleeds a bit on some fabrics.
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Back when I was drinking I wasn’t enough. Inside. I wanted something, anything to tell me that I was. And one of those things I wanted, probably the biggest was “more.”
Not just more drinking but more “doing”, too. Constantly feeling on the go, I got this to do and that to do. Doing more, wanting more. More, more, more.
And then when I would actually do something, I never felt like I could commit to it because everything else I had to do was on my mind as well.
Looking back now I can see that underneath all of that “more”, I felt that if I could just get all these things done, then I’d be happy. That you’d be happy with me. I’d feel like that I was enough. That I’d accomplished something with my life. That I’d be a complete person like everybody else. It’s the textbook example of a “human doing” instead of a “human being.” As it were.
What’s more is that when people would ask me to do something, I’d be like “sure, okay” even if I didn’t want to, even if I felt like they were just out for themselves. I’d already be juggling too many balls but hey, what’s one more up in the air? More is good, right?
It’s no wonder I felt overwhelmed for most of my life.
So getting sober, being sober I had to learn how many balls I could actually juggle. I had to learn how and when to say “no.” And learning how to say “no” to myself came a lot easier than learning how to say “no” to other people.
By working the 12 steps, going to meetings, hanging out and talking with other people in recovery and my sponsor, I learned how to live sober. I learned how to be assertive and accept what I can do and what I can’t do.
We learn our lessons, we learn our skills one day at a time, one conversation at a time. We’re not going to master life in an hour. It takes time to absorb new concepts and then practice them in our daily lives. Even more so when you’re like me and have a whole slew of unhealthy behaviors to let go of first.
I can’t say enough for setting boundaries either. There’s plenty of people that also want “more.” And they will try to take their “more” from us, too. And we’ll have to learn how to deal with them if we want to be at peace with ourselves.
Step 10 from Alcoholics Anonymous reminds me to continually look at my inventory, see what’s going on and how I feel. And then Step 11 reminds me that I need to look for God’s will and the power to carry that out.
Similar to before, it’s easier for me to see when my will differs from God’s. But then it’s a little trickier to figure out where someone else’s will and God’s will differ. Like when someone would ask me to do something and then I thought that was God’s will, God wanting me to step up and do whatever.
And sometimes it is. But then also sometimes it isn’t. There’s plenty of people in the world that will take advantage of us, that will try to use and manipulate us. When they ask something of us that doesn’t necessarily mean that that’s God‘s will and that we have to do it.
I think that it could be God‘s will that a lesson just came into my life through those people. And that lesson very well could be learning how to and continuing to practice saying “no.”
We were talking about the Serenity Prayer last night in a meeting, accepting the things that we cannot change and so on. Sometimes I have a whole list of things I need to do. Chores and groceries and errands and bills and laundries. Being responsible is something that I can’t really change. So I prioritize, do what I can each day, and let that be good enough.[1] If I’m in a good spiritual place that will come relatively easy.
It’s important to remember there’s more to the Serenity Prayer than just acceptance.
I sometimes forget that. The prayer isn’t about me blindly accepting whatever comes alo

Last night I heard an Al-Anon speaker say that she was very angry with her husband while he was drinking. But really she was scared. Scared for a variety of reasons, if he was going to really hurt himself, and so on.
When I was drinking my ex-wife was also very angry. The kind of anger where it felt like I couldn’t do anything right. And I took that very personal because, to me, it just seemed like she was constantly upset with what I was doing and what I wasn’t doing.
It really struck a chord with me, what the speaker said yesterday. Looking back now I can see that my ex-wife was also most likely scared. And frustrated. And hurt. I wish I could’ve seen through to her fear at the time. Seen her hurt instead of her aggravation. Seen her loneliness instead of her judgment.
I feel sad that I only saw her madness and didn’t or couldn’t see what was underneath.
After I’ve moved on and things have passed, it’s easier for me to have an objective look on what was really going on. But in the moment it’s too hard to detach from the then and there, even more so when emotions are high. We've all heard that anger is just a cover up but I only see the rage when it's directed at me.
I started to tear up listening to the speaker because I felt like if I would’ve seen my ex-wife as simply being hurt and scared I would’ve done things differently when we were married.
Instead of reacting defiantly to her anger, I would’ve tried to react lovingly to her pain.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Nov 7, 2017 at 12:11 am
i was just thinking about this today. thankies for the share.
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tcr!
· Nov 8, 2017 at 7:22 am
I think I might think about it a little more often. 😊
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I still need to get a couple mannequins. I think about this often, at least daily. Well, maybe every other day. They’ll provide some kind of ambience, some kind of atmosphere that I need. In my house. Preferably the dining room.
No, there’s nothing sexual or weird going on behind the scenes here. I’m not gonna drill any holes in them or have different outfits based on different seasons. I may, however, throw a scarf around one if it’s chilly outside. Something to keep them looking current and fresh.
Think of them more as art pieces, as sculptures, and less as companions. I’m not J.F. Sebastian over here. They won’t have backstories or names or be scantily dressed.
Having a set has been on my mind ever since I was a kid and had my first run in with a JCPenney mannequin while shopping with my mom. Well, my mom was shopping and I was wandering around aimlessly. Because there’s nothing to do in the women’s section when you’re a 10 year old boy other than to try and get lost in rack after rack of clothes you despise touching and will most certainly never wear.
Daydream of a Roger Moore style spy chase through the ladies tops. Avoid whatever KGB agent that had tracked my location to this particular department store on this particular day.
And then I bumped into a mannequin. Fairly hard but not on purpose for sure. I was looking one way and going another. This was all well before I stopped seeing the world just from my eyes and only ever paid attention to what was right in front of me.
And then the female mannequin all but fell over. Luckily, I was the hero with my 007 reflexes and saved that day, saved the towering figure from the public shame of lying face down on dense carpet made for heavy traffic.
Somehow I twisted its arm around backwards and upside down or something. But with my superior mechanical and fashionable skills, I was able to repose the mannequin into a style, into a position that was fitting for the outfit. Obviously those store designers had little sense for fashion in the first place. Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge too harshly. We were only two miles from rural Iowa and all the farmland they had to offer.
Anyways, I don’t think my life will be complete until I have at least two mannequins. I need a pair minimum. One male and one female. So they can keep each other company. And having just one mannequin would be weird. And having a whole fleet would be bizarre.[1] And not in a good way.
And I can’t buy them online. Having mannequins shipped to your house would definitely be cause for alarm. I need them from like a Sears that’s going out of business or so. But they can’t be scoffed or marred. Seeing the white, chipped plaster (or whatever it is) underneath is just tacky.
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Okay, so this whole post is mildly bizarre considering it's a little before 9 am. But I wrote most of it while driving home from work yesterday and only polished it this morning. ↑
keamoose
· Oct 31, 2017 at 10:20 am
Ironically, Sears Canada is going out of business, but you’d probably have to have them shipped to your house.
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tcr!
· Oct 31, 2017 at 10:42 am
Can you pilfer a few from out back behind your local center?
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keamoose
· Oct 31, 2017 at 10:54 am
I would, but up here in the wilderness we only had a Sears appliance store and it closed a couple of years ago.
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tcr!
· Oct 31, 2017 at 11:50 am
Ah.. Our Sears appliance closed somet

Please note local residents: ATM drive-throughs are one way. You should not back up for any reason. Think of the ATM lane to be like a waterslide. You should only go down, never up. If you try to swim or climb back up le slide, chances are you’ll destroy the very fabric that holds our universe together. Yes, I’m talking to you lady at the BMO by Blue Goose.
Also, please resist the urge to get out of your car. Or truck. Or whatever you’re in to.
In conclusion: if you like to do your banking on foot and/or while utilizing both the backwards and the forwards of your automobile, just go inside. You’ll get to do both.
You’ll even have the option to enjoy a Dum Dum. Instead of being one. 🍭
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I’m in the private, single person work restroom. Somebody tries the door knob. It refuses because I’m not an animal and therefore lock the door.
Again, with the twisting. I scowl at the door. More knob twists. This time as if brute force will unlock the door. I’m annoyed now.
Three seconds pass. The knob twists yet again. I call out forcefully, angrily... “dude, I’m taking a s**t.”
I don’t like talking to people in public but sometimes ya got to.
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tcr!
· Oct 29, 2017 at 9:36 am
While dining out last night I happened upon this restroom. Featuring additional seating.
Maybe the knob twister above was expecting he could just come in and wait for his turn.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Nov 2, 2017 at 12:36 am
Companionship is losing ground. The naysayers are getting verbal and providing examples.
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One time my brother ate a whole bag of walnuts. And my mom was furious. She still talks about it to this day even though said feeding happened sometime in the 80s. Apparently the walnuts were a gift to my mom from my grandpa during one of his nation-wide adventures. I think they came from out west but nobody knows for sure since he was known to disappear for weeks on end during his “fishing trips.”
One time grandpa bought a whole everglade forest or something in Florida. On a whim. I had always hoped to see it someday, to see if the elusive feathered-bigfoot-alligator was a real thing. But that never happened because the older I got, the less swamp sounded like fun.
I see I’ve drifted off on a tangent. The above paragraph is neither here nor there to this post. It is not in a fox. It is not in a box. It is not in a boat. It is not in a moat.
Anyways, my mom had planned to make these nutted brownies[1] with the supposedly delicious western walnuts. Alas, she was forced to make brownies sans nuts. And seriously, chances are 92% that if I (or anyone else) ever mention walnuts to her, even in the casualest of conversations, her face will still flush with the fury of a baker betrayed.
Now then… I would like to make restitution on behalf of my walnut-eating brother[2] (and his 80s afro) to my mom and get her a new bag of walnuts. No, I don’t have to do this but I’m sure my mom’s face would also flush if she ever knew about one of the times I [redacted]. Therefore I’ve taken it upon myself to try and fix this little piece of history.
Will it work, beloved and devoted readers?
Well, that’s where you come in: where is the best place to get the best walnuts around town? I’m not looking for the best price, I’m looking for the best nut. Chopped or otherwise. Not ground though. Who the hell can do anything with ground walnuts this late in the season? Certainly not me. And not more than a pound. I’m not stalking up for seed apocalypse here.
Also, be aware: any answers that start with “Super Target has Blue Diamonds” will be publicly mocked.
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Is that what you call them? Nutted brownies? Or brownies with nuts? You pick. ↑
You maybe asking yourself why he ate a whole bag of walnuts. I wondered myself when I was but a boy. The only thing I can come up with is that he smoked one of his doobies and that put the hunger in bones. ↑
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I hate it when I'm walking down the work hallway and I hear another office door open. Can't I just walk down the hall alone, with peace and quiet?
Now matter how much I try to avoid people, some random body shows up and says, "hello." And then I have to quickly scan the mental rolodex for non-offensive chit-chat. Engage in dialogue that obviously won't last more than 15 seconds.
It's not that I don't like the other office building inhabitants but on a quick stroll to the restroom, there's only so many steps to take. I'd rather walk in silence than blurt out, "How 'bout this weather?" ..or.. "Tomorrow's Friday!"
Of course I could pause and launch into mild outrage about (insert any poetic injustice here) but then I'd feel it socially correct to stop walking. And that in turn would invite the random body into a full blown conversation. The horror. Sure, full blown gabfests are fine but not when I'm on my way to the potty.
Maybe I should write some socially-irregular chit-chats on index cards for future use. Not ones that will have random body think I'm a boob or psycho anything because I do care what people think of me. But more like one or two-liners that will (hopefully) instill an off-balanced curiosity in the random body.
Something like these perhaps:
I had some really amazing blueberry jelly last night. So good.
With my new shoes, I'll run faster after they're broken in.
The Queen is kinda over-appreciated. Maybe I just don't know her.
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keamoose
· Oct 19, 2017 at 1:26 pm
One time I was rinsing my coffee cup and a colleague approached to use the coffee machine. He decided to pass the time by asking me what my favourite band was. I told the truth. He got through the conversation, but I don’t think he ever asked me anything again.
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tcr!
· Oct 19, 2017 at 3:47 pm
That’s awesome! “I’m totally down with Hellhorse!!” 🐴🤘
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keamoose
· Oct 19, 2017 at 4:34 pm
It was something like:
“Helhorse”
“Helhorse?”
“Yeah”
“What kind of music do they play?”
“Danish metal”
“Oh, yes… the Viking metal…”
I have to give him credit for hanging in there. He’s 65 and listens to Adele and Glen Campbell, he basically had no clue what I was talking about. Nice guy though :)
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tcr!
· Oct 20, 2017 at 7:41 am
I loved Rhinestone Cowboy as a kid. It was a huge hit at the airport skating rink when I was a kid. Maybe you could talk to your Hellhorse connection and see if they can put it on their set list. 🤔
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So we all know that our phones are a huge part of our lives. We take them pretty much every where. They say that they’re generally the first thing we look at in the morning and the last thing we look at before going to sleep.
However, I’ve came across a situation where another’s phone usage has me bepuzzled and I wanted to get the worldly consensus. Yes, I realize that virtually all people will be looking at this post on their phones, and yes, that may skew the results but I acknowledge this and will persist.
There’s a gentleman we’ll call Gary. I doubt if the gentleman is actually named Gary but he very well could be. If so, it’s purely coincidental. Also, this man is not your friend or relative named Gary. No, I don’t know your uncle Gary or your boss Gary. Finally, I don’t have any friends that go by Gary. Which is why I chose this name. Well, I actually chose it because after Bruce Wayne retired along came a Batman named Gary[1] of all things. I was rather disappointed that the writers chose “Gary” because it does not compare to the power that comes from saying an almighty name such as “Bruce.” Also, if your name is Gary I’m sorry but you cannot be Batman.
Anyways, back to the man I have aliased Gary. I’ll get right to it…
Gary was watching a movie trailer in the public restroom at work a few moments ago. He was hidden within the stall but his phone did indeed bellow with the cellos and sing with the strings and pound with the pianos, and all in such a way that I knew whatever action-packed movie Gary was previewing was gonna be good. I felt a smidge frantic because I hadn’t anything but the movie music to go on. How in the world would I find this movie in Fandango later? Shazam was obviously out of the question.
But once the audible excitement of whatever film Gary was trailering had worn off, I felt disheartened, disenfranchised, disengaged, dis and more dis. Almost like I’d shared a moment with Gary that, not only I shouldn’t have, but also that I didn’t really want to. Sure, I get sucked into movie magic as much as the next Doug…but once I was washing my hands firmly back in reality, I knew beyond a doubt that I don’t want to have any kind of moments with Gary in a public restroom. Ever again.
With public restrooms I think people should get in and get out. And more importantly: let strangers get in and out as well. If you’re going to watch the YouTubes or whatever at least keep your phone on silent so you don’t suck others in. Better still, don’t make any sounds at all. Don’t grunt, gasp, or sigh. If possible, hold your breathe. Remain mysterious. Elusive. Don’t give the other guests any clues as to who you are or what you’re doing. You could very well be Bruce Wayne or Selina Kyle. Use your anonymity to your advantage!
Okay, so I’m not like everybody. I don’t like making noises or chit-chatting with strangers while visiting the communal washrooms. If you do, that’s fine. I won’t judge. To each their own. You got the right to do your business.
So my question…
Since Gary was watching and listening to his phone in the restroom, publicly filling the airwaves with theatrical music for all, would it have been appropriate for me to say, “Sounds pretty good, what movie is that?”
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Editor's note: there wasn't a Batman named Gary. Terry was his name. I've gone too far to change it now. ↑
jimi hindrance experience
· Oct 17, 2017 at 7:34 pm
Yes.
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keamoose
· Oct 18, 2017 at 2:56 pm
This is all great, but my favourite part is that after you’ve said Gary 1000 times it turns out Batman’s name

Sometimes I’m gonna do something.
I plan it out in my head and think, “This is perfect. This lines up here and that lines up there.”
And then I don’t do it.
And then the next morning I think, “I’m glad I didn’t do that.”
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After Maggie goes to her mom’s for the day I’m always taken back by how quiet it is.
After I get home from the errands and the store and have put away the groceries. Shut off the podcast and brought a load of laundry upstairs.
I noticeably hear nothing while putting clean towels away in the bathroom. No TVs talking down in the family room. No cups filling in the kitchen. No movement on beds in the bedrooms. No dresser handles clinking. Nothing but the sounds I, myself, am making.
The black plywood creeks as I walk into my bedroom. The house is so quiet the only thing I hear when I pause is the clock flipping the minutes.
Not long ago there were four of us and three cats. Now there’s just me and two cats. And my phone.
And the clock.
I’ve gotten used to it. The stillness. The quiet. The sound of nothing but myself. It no longer breaks my heart but I always notice.
...
After I moved out of my mom’s house, and then later after I moved out of my dad’s… I never really thought about what it was like to be them after I left. I was off flying my own adventures and never really looked back.
I know now though. What it’s like to have an empty house. To eat dinner by myself. To go to bed without kids to herd. Without verbally saying goodnight to anyone.
But it can be okay. The sun will still rise in the morning. We really do adjust and adapt so long as we don’t fight the current of where life is taking us.
...
So when I was in my mid 20s I would go over to my grandmother Mildred’s house at night sometimes. Just to see what she was up to or more likely because I wanted something. 😉
She was almost always in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool, listening to her local NPR station. It seemed like her radio was always yammering on about the Iowa Democrats or political hoopla, something or another.
I never understood why she just didn’t go sit on her couch. It had to be more comfortable than her barstool. But that’s where she liked to be so more power to her. And she always had something on the stove simmering. Sometimes it smelled really good and sometimes it didn’t.
Anyways... After she passed away and after I got divorced from my first wife I moved in to my grandma’s house. I often would sit in that same kitchen, eating oatmeal with raisins, because I was poor, listening to a little FM. It gave me a connection to her when I felt all alone. It wasn’t easy getting divorced at 26. But that's another story. In my grandma's kitchen I learned just how awesome public radio is.
So now some twenty odd years later when I’m home alone I spend more time in the kitchen than anywhere else. Listening to WBEZ or some podcast if it’s time for a WBEZ pledge drive. The horror of pledge week, let me tell ya.
I never really thought much about the people I left behind, the people that stayed at home but I do now when I’m sitting by myself.
The people that came before me are the ones that helped make me who I am. They’re the ones that taught me that we can be okay without someone in the next room, without someone filling up their water cup.
I guess when enough gray days are strung together I get all reflective.
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When I was drinking I would hurt people, because that’s what I did when I was drinking, and then I would feel bad and avoid them. Sometimes go out of my way not to see them. And then when the day came around that I did, I would hang my head in shame and hope that they had forgotten.
My guilt would pile up like garbage. The trash can would be overflowing, s**t falling on the floor, and I’d just ignore it. But then I’d walk by the guilty trash pile and step on something and it’d stick to my shoe and I’d be like...
"Dude just get off"
And that’s how I lived.
We talk in 12 step meetings about how the steps change us, make us better people. How they awaken our spirits. And with that I was thinking about Steps 8 and 9 recently and the cool thing about working them is that years later when I have something to do, amends to be made, or whatever I know that there is freedom after I walk through it. After I sweep up and take out my trash I’ll feel better. “Freedom from bondage of self” as it’s written.
The first time I was making my list, preparing to make those amends and so on, I had all kinds of anxiety and fear because I’d never done something like that before. Not something that monumental anyways. I didn’t have much experience with facing not only what I had done but also facing the other person. I didn’t know what was going to happen or how it was all gonna work out. So many unknowns. And unknowns are scary. Plus, I felt bad for what I’d done that led me to the person’s door in the first place.
People in the meetings said it was going to be okay and I knew that it was going to be okay just from earlier step work. But right then it wasn’t okay. Because I hadn’t made them. I was still living with the burden of my trash heap.
So in the here and now, because I went through the whole amends process, became willing, and knocked on people’s doors, I know there’s good stuff on the other side. I can rely on my past experience of taking action. I have that benefit now. The steps not only clear away the “wreckage of the past” but also give us the skills to live a clean life moving forward. Steps 8 and 9 are “training for Step 10” as John recently said.
Walking around with something on my mind, something that I need to do it really bothers me in the here and now. After having a clear conscience and knowing what a blue sky feels like, whenever my conscience isn’t clear it grinds on my emotional gears. It’s like life comes to a halt. It interferes with my relationship with god, with the cosmos, with you guys.
Today, I don’t have to walk around a trash pile. I know what to do. I can reach out to whoever now and be done with it. I won’t have to wonder if someone’s still mad or hurt because I can take responsibility for what I did. I can simply say “I was being an ass. And I’m sorry.“ It can really be that simple.
Then all that burden, all that discord, it goes away. Doing that kinda thing is how come I’m happy today. It’s how I get to live my life fully in the present. Not looking back, not feeling bad, but enjoying everything this very moment has to offer. There’ll be no f*****g trash on the floor.
Also, just knowing that a relationship can be repaired or set back on track is a wonderful feeling. Just knowing that it will no longer be an obstacle, that I don’t have to avoid someone or not look them in the eye. Just knowing it’s gonna be okay gives me hope, gives me relief, gives me the motivation to clean it up.
And it will also make the other person’s day just that much better. They can have and share in that same freedom, in that same closure. They deserve it more than I do.
I’ll never forget the look on his face after I said, “I was wrong. I’m sorry.” His eyes teared up the same as mine as we shared that moment, as we both let go of a s

You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down and you see a tortoise. It’s crawling toward you.
First time I've been to a movie by myself since The Phantom Menace. No weirdness so that's good news.
And the movie was good. I went in thinking it'd be just okay, went in with a beef against Gosling but he fit the character well. I can see why they chose him for the part.
Be aware: the background music and sound effects were the loudest I'd ever heard in a theater. Everybody was going to be paying attention to Blade Runner 2049, no dazing off.
I'll let you watch the movie without spoiling it. Well, one negative thing I will say is that if a character lights a cigarette then there should be smoke in that scene. Until he puts it out. Ya, this is minor but as an ex-smoker it bugs me.
Now I'll talk about the original Blade Runner and one of my pet peeves with that.
Okay, so Deckard is a replicant. You can see his eyes light up briefly when he and Rachael go back to his apartment after Leon roughed him up, threw him around, etc-ry. All the replicants have the shiny eyes now and then, that's the visual giveaway. And I like it. But I don't like that Leon did in fact kick Deckard's ass up and down the street just minutes before.
If Deckard was a replicant, what the hell? Ya, he may not have known he was an android and therefore wouldn't have known about his physical abilities, ie. strength, agility, and so on.
But...survival seems to be pretty key to replicants. The whole movie is about them not wanting to die, them wanting to live. And if Deckard was a replicant, why didn't that kick in during his fight with Leon? Or Zhora? When one is about to die our instincts take over. Unless you're a boob.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Oct 10, 2017 at 1:13 am
I thought I wrote this to everyone. Apparently not. The first thing I said is that it reminded me of “The Dark Knight”.
I needed a new paragraph because I saw Dark Knight 3 or 4 days after the Colorado shootings. When the movie starts up, there’s a shoot-out (my memory, not always the most reliable) and it is rock concert loud. Then the movie blew me away.
Back to Blade Runner 2049. I wrote that it was like Dark Knight with the soundtrack and the cinematography. Sometimes with these movies it bugs me that they’re so darkly lit. The measure of light needs to include some light to measure.
I loved Blade Runner 2049 for the first 2 hours. I could’ve done without the last 30 mins or so. I hear that it’s an American thing but rarely does a movie need to last more than 2 hours, especially a thriller/adventure/sci-fi thing. I loved how it was part of the original story.
(Briefly) I LOVED the GIRLS! It was part of the original movie and these girls worked this time too.
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tcr!
· Oct 10, 2017 at 1:29 pm
163 minutes is a long time to sit through a movie. Especially a movie like Blade Runner. If you watch some of the trailers you can see scenes with Sapper Morton (the first replicant K meets) that weren’t in the theatrical version. That doesn’t surprise me though. I’ve read the first Blade Runner was over four hours long.
Movies like these should really just be made into two separate parts. It’d flesh the story and characters out more while also giving me a chance to pee.
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There’s this saying, “better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.”
Sources have various versions, from Mark Twain to Abe Lincoln to that pesky critter King James.
Anyways, who said it first and how they said it is irrelevant. It’s good. Me not chiming in with my ignorance makes the world a better place. There’s too much noise and b******t out there already.
So this is easy for me to remember because I come out looking like a winner when I stay silent. Instead of talking and looking like a boob.
However, there are two more related truths that are a smidge trickier for me.
See, along the same line as King Twain Lincoln it’s just as good for me to not feed the trolls. Keep quiet when someone else is raging in my direction. Not throw counter punches in fights I cannot win.[1] It’s better for everybody involved if I just let the troll run out of gas or just move along.
Ya, sometimes I follow them down the rabbit hole because my emotions take over and I think they’re full of s**t. I'll try to force them to see how they’re wrong and then get them to apologize. Or I’ll try to force them to listen to reason so they won’t be upset or whatever.
None of that’s ever gonna happen.
But what will happen when I don’t retaliate is that said trolls can sit in their own s**t. Take their medal home and wear it with pride. Revel in the prestige of being an a*****e. They’ll most likely know it, too. Unless they're a real boob. Just don't count on the troll backing down. Because chances are good they won't.
Anyways, when I’m up in arms the last thing I wanna do is listen to somebody else tell me that I’m doing it wrong. If I’m doing it “right” I’ll let other people be wrong as well. Including the trolls. I don’t need to engage in every atrocity.
And then there’s the times when I’m the troll. I open my mouth when I shouldn’t. That's not good.
I’m never mean-spirited on purpose but people who don’t know me don’t know that. I need to exercise caution more often than not. I won’t go wrong with err’ing on the side of hesitation.
Really, at the end of the day me not putting my gear in mouth is the generally right thing to do.
When in doubt consult a spiritual advisor.
PS– I’m not preaching to you. I’m preaching to me. Because I’m really not that cool.
PS2– When recording the audio I transposed gear and mouth. So I changed it every where.
PS3- Ya, I said tomorrow's date in the audio. Because today really should be Thursday.
PS4- And also in the audio version beloved listeners can hear me snap my fingers at the cats. Because I'm good like that.
#advancedsoul #protip
Like all things the only black and white rules are the ones that are gray. ↑
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About an hour ago I put the wrong key in my back door. Like a moron. And then gave the knob a confident twist/push. And of course it wouldn’t turn. Or budge. It never does. With the wrong key.
In that fatal moment I all but wanted to call a locksmith. To take over from there. Kinda like when I started digging an escape tunnel through the foundation in my basement. Sometimes you need to call the pros in when you hit a water pipe.
Really, I just wanted to go inside after I got home from work. I got enough problems without needing to channel Houdini to make it past the deadbolt.
The thought of Trader Joe’s Halloween cookies on the other side are the only thing that kept me going. I’ve had four so far and even though the vanilla creme is orange, they’ve changed everything for me.
But wait, to make matters worse: while I was standing in my back door shame I remembered the two kids riding their bikes in the alley when I pulled up. I’m sure they were both staring at me. Staring those incoherent, pitying stares that kids have when they see an adult “doing it wrong.” I didn’t bother to look at them. I’m sure they were throwing dumbfounded scorn every which way.
The neighbors are surely all talking by now, too. I won’t be able to show my face in the cul-de-sac or even leave the house for the next several hours. Probably until daybreak. I guess I’ll order China Wok delivery for dinner and just assume I won’t be invited to the Christmas cookie parties this year.
Other options for delivery dinner that won’t break my bank? I’m not Thurston Howell the III over here and am also not sure binging on Vegetable Lo Mein is such a good idea at this point in my career.
And then there’s the neighbor’s little dog. He loves to bark through the fence whenever he sees me. Oh does that little dog love to bark. And laugh. He seriously cackles and busts a rib every time I fumble those keys at the backdoor.
But eager, avid, endearing readers let it be known that on Saturday I foiled that little Napoleon’s plans forever more. I put plastic shutters along the fence in his favorite barking spot. They’re kinda dingy, pink shutters1 I trash picked from somebody in the alley but that’s irrelevant. Henceforth his barking will be a one-way ticket to nowhere.
Also, I have two Halloween cookies2 left if anyone’s interested. Contact me so I can review your credentials first. Yes, I screen everybody I share my cookies with.
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The dingy, pink shutters ↑
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keamoose
· Oct 4, 2017 at 10:50 am
You’re sounding a lot more comfortable on the audio :)
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tcr!
· Oct 4, 2017 at 11:01 am
Thanks! I just had to find my groove. And get my workstation all in place. I don’t think I ever posted photos of the new workbench I set up but I’ll do that later tonight.
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This post originally appeared on the Facebook group, What's happening in Geneva, IL. I'm reposting here just in case someone decides the writing isn't as exceptional as the Campana flame wars. I mean discussions.
Guys, they’re doing fire hydrant flushing on the east side of Geneva today and from what I gather the happening is primarily in neighborhoods around the Fox River.
This is important because I’ve never actually seen a hydrant being flushed. I’ve always felt they were akin to the elusive Sasquatch and Yeti up north. Signs for this city event, sure, we’ve all seen them. But a horizontal fountain spray? Never in all my time spent living in this wonderful city.
Wait! This story doesn’t end there. Low and behold I did see water gushing from a hydrant on my way to work, in all of its bubbly, watery glory. I almost wanted to stop and splash around but this particular hydrant was in somebody’s yard on Division Street. I’d rather splish, splash, parade around on concrete cement like they get to do in the inner cities. Now that looks like fun. And I don’t like mud on my feet.
It’s a little chilly this morning, too. 57°F according to my weather app. If I hadn’t been almost late for work I’d have at least stopped to hang out with the city worker and his wrenches. I doubt if he’d let me actually hold any of his tools so I’d just get a stick, poke the mud, and chime in with “Yep, good pressure. That looks about right. Valve turn okay?”
I’d have taken a photo or two to share with you guys, but “hands free driving” guys. It’s the law.
In conclusion the guy doing the flushing didn’t look nearly as enthused as I felt while driving by. This is probably just day-in and day-out stuff for him. Another thing on his work to do list. I been there.
I, however, was simply delighted with what I saw. Another thing off my bucket list.
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tcr!
· Sep 29, 2017 at 4:49 pm
I snapped a picture of the Division hydrant on the way home from work. It’s not the best since I applied le zoom but I was quite pleased they gave her a fresh coat of red paint after the flush!
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keamoose
· Sep 29, 2017 at 5:24 pm
If that story doesn’t make people’s days better, I don’t know what would.
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keamoose
· Sep 29, 2017 at 5:26 pm
Although, I wouldn’t really want to splash in that water. There’s a reason they flush it out. Stagnant water in the lines is a breeding ground for all kinds for gross stuff. (This is the downside to being a water treatment engineer.)
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jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 30, 2017 at 4:01 am
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. These writings have improved my day (noc) on a day (noc) that needed improvement.
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tcr!
· Oct 1, 2017 at 3:48 pm
keamoose- I yep, after your comments on the retention pond I tend to shy away from public water in this fashion. 😊
jimi- you are most welcome!
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Maggie and I found this note while having gelato at Graham's 318.
Sometimes life pounds on my door, pounds with both hands to get my attention. But more often than not it’s just few taps, barely audible, just left of center.
When I see those things out of the corner of my eye, the kind that perk my interest, it’s important that I take another look. Stay in that moment and focus. I don’t think that whatever just happened along is an accident. I need to act on those glimmers because once they’re gone, they’re gone.
Time keeps ticking away whether I do something or not. And the odds are against me when I hesitate. If I wait too long it’ll be all but impossible to go back. I can’t rewind and recapture the magic from a moment ago. Magic's got a shelf life. Unfortunately.
Sure, in almost all cases those left of center taps don’t amount to anything. I don’t always get to find a rabbit in the hat but I never regret at least looking, looking to see what was making that sound.
Ya know what I don’t like? Wondering what would’ve happened, what could’ve been. If I’d just taken a chance, taken a risk, and not necessarily jumped through that window, but at least said, “wait, what was that?”
I’d rather have the thought “well, that was nothing” than my heart murmuring and longing for something that I let slip away. Something that was knocking gently on my door and I ignored. That flicker I just walked by. There’s been too many times where I just kept walking. Just kept driving…
Like those bricks in St. Charles.
Or that guy I only briefly talked to in high school. Or that pirate ship1 I never got on. Or that barbershop I never went in. Or that phone call from Brazil I never answered.
Somebody told me a few years back that I was meek. And it pissed me off to no end. Because it was true. I hate when my submissive, unassertive alter ego holds me back. Ugh.
Anyways, I’m a firm believer in that the more I stop and look around the more opportunities will become obvious. And one of those things will be a home run. A magical rabbit leprechaun. That changes everything.
Like a Taco Tuesday at 7-11.
Sure, sometimes it only changes things a teeny bit, just for that day. Like I only get a brief experience or flash of exhilaration or whatever, but those little rabbits can also change how I see life from there on out. And then when I look back on those pictures I took in the alley that night, I won’t be unfulfilled.
My heart tingles when I remember the time I joined the parade for immigrant worker rights2 only because it was happening right outside my work building. And the time my brother and I shot a scene for a movie in a grocery store on a whim because that’s where the cosmos had led us that night. And a few days ago when I conjured up the goat by the name of Thelma Louise just for the sake of nonsense.
Those three things changed everything. They gave me satisfaction for a life lived.
Even better: I’ll cherish forever the friends I’ve found because I took a risk and put myself out there. Smiled and said “hi” to a stranger.
It’s like all of this I just wrote... I was driving to work this morning and it was a fleeting thought about how I shouldn’t ignore those fleeting thoughts. That I should write about them so it’ll all be highlighted and underlined in my mind. And then hopefully I’ll stay two steps ahead of my own timidness.
The more we pay attention the more we’ll be given the chance to experience and partake in new and exciting magic tricks. We’ll pull them into our lives, pull the rabbits and off-chances toward us. Because that's what are hearts are crying for. Mine is anyways. Our spirits are little magnets that attract the likeminded...and as such, our internal combustion protons will seek out the cosmic electrons. If you'd like some science metaphors inste

Peeps, what was happening for me a few moments ago was a wonderful pinky orange sunrise. It’s Wednesday so we’re half-way through the week. Who can argue with hump day? NOBODY. That’s who.
Also, I could really use Desperately Seeking Susan on DVD. Ya, it’s from the 80s but still holding 88% on the Tomatoes. Bonus: if you have the soundtrack on vinyl you’ll be invited to the masquerade ball next month. Don’t just say you got it, you got to prove, that you’re into the groove. Get up on your feet, step to the beat…
Anyways, Happy Wednesday. Today will be your best day ever!
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tcr!
· Sep 27, 2017 at 3:16 pm
I’m thinking of having the masquerade ball next month even without the vinyl DSS soundtrack. I’ll just put this on infinite loop while everybody’s dancing around, feeling the sweet sensation. And yes, I really did just buy the DVD. Because that’s what you do when you’re me.
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tcr!
· Sep 29, 2017 at 5:10 pm
YES. Amazon never lets me down. And yes, of course I was gonna get it. 😉
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Earlier in the evening I solicited local residents for someone to make me dinner. Being fairly new to the concept of bartering online I now realize that may have been perceived as greedy, to simply want and take without offering and/or giving back to the community.
So with that said I’d like to offer this brand new Heat & Air Deflector to anyone who’d like an “unbreakable/irrompible” add-on for their vent.
It really is new, I opened it because I like opening boxes and packages. And they work perfectly. My feet are now chilly beans whereas yesterday the curtains were all dancing and swaying like them blow-up, inflatable tube guys with the fancy red hair over at Zimmerman’s car lot on the Fourth of July.
You may be wondering why I have such a treasure that I’m willing to part with. That is a very good question. I ordered 8 and have found good homes (inside my home) for the other 5 siblings. That leaves me with 2 spares and 1 that needs to leave the nest.
Yes, 2 spares for me. They say “unbreakable” on the box but I’m suspicious of that claim. I had more than one run-in with these as a kid. They usually ended up broken at the bottom of the garage trash can. Then my dad would ask me what happened to my vent cover and I’d be like “I dunno” ... 🤷‍♂️
Anyways... Contact me with your address and I’ll drop it off in the next day or so. Under cover of dark.
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I may need to leave the What's Happening in Geneva Facebook group. I keep wanting to help with my web expert advice, wit, and charm. Below are two examples that I could barely resist (but did).
Hi there, I Need recommendation for washing machine fix.... thank
You're gonna go all the way down about half a block and you'll see a Torino with no wheels on it. Now, inside that Torino is my cousin, Jackie. Now, you tell him you my boy and that you need help, and he'll make sure you get all the fixin's you need.
Our first SATURDAY GOAT YOGA class at Rustic Road Farm. It was a WARM day to practice yoga. Luckily there was a light breeze helping us out. The goats may have felt the heat too as we had a few escapees in search of the opportunity to roam freely about the farm.
I had a goat once by the name a Thelma Louise. She was free roamer as well but certainly no Harvard graduate. Or a Cindy Crawford. Come around 82°F she'd stripped down to her birthday suit and twist and shimmy into that downward dog pose.
Believe you me, that was not a sight for sore eyes. I couldn't even finish my root beer popsicle. Well, sometimes I would anyways. Ma didn't always buy the root beer and no way I'd let that sweet sassafras slip away.
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tcr!
· Sep 25, 2017 at 11:45 am
Ok, after enough peer pressure I added my comment to the goat yogis.
Also, I don’t have a cousin named Jackie. That was taken almost verbatim from the scene where Clark asks for directions out of East St. Louis.
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In follow up to August 16th's Provocative yet professional
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keamoose
· Sep 21, 2017 at 7:31 pm
They did leave the door open for that with “and more”.
Have you seen this? http://thebloggess.com/2017/01/04/im-gonna-be-a-vampire-maybe/
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tcr!
· Sep 22, 2017 at 6:58 am
I hadn’t seen that but late last night I was all over it like a one-toothed man at a corn cob eatin’ content!
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tcr!
· Sep 22, 2017 at 8:26 am
The new mic boom arm and me right before recording the podcast audio for this.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 25, 2017 at 1:16 am
Keamoose, T:
I read and was highly entertained by the “want to be a vampire chronicles”.
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tcr!
· Sep 25, 2017 at 8:46 am
I can only hope someday to receive an invitation of my own from worldofvampir@hotmail.com.
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And then there was that one time when I was fresh outta high school and floundering around like a moron. I didn’t have a job and was whining offhandedly about being poor while over at my sister’s house. Whining like teenagers do because everything should've just been given to me without me putting in any effort.
And then my sister’s friend, Don, said to me, “can you run a jackhammer?”
Now that wasn’t something I was expecting. I thought to myself, "I can’t run a jackhammer. I’m a skinny, artsy dork wearing Converse high-tops and a Garfield t-s**t."
Anyways... this isn’t about me. It’s about Don and him trying to help. Legitimately.
I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed but it seems like far too much of the time older guys give the younger guys hell. Just because. All in the name of that stupid trial by fire, chest beating kinda nonsense. Like the guys coming up after them are barely capable of wiping their own asses and need to be scorned and ridiculed.
Why can men be like this? Maybe it’s got something to with the next in line will soon take over. Maybe that’s scary so they want to keep them down for as long as possible. Who the hells the knows. I guess why something is, is rarely important to me these days.
So another time when I was a teenager I was washing my step dad’s car. He was there and so was the neighbor but they were just standing around gabbing or whatever. Then the neighbor’s son (two years older than me) walked over and said while pointing his finger, “you missed a spot, you missed a spot.” And he said it like five times. I wasn’t even done washing the car for Christ's sake.
The neighbor gave his son a puzzled look to which the son replied, “I love doing that. That’s what they all do to me at work.”
Ya, I didn’t really like him much after that.
Anyways 2... back to Don.
Even though we were two very different people, him being a construction worker and me being a pretend teenage anarchist, he had a really good heart. And he didn’t let those differences stand in the way of extending his hand to try and pull me up out of my floundering.
I never learned how to use a jackhammer. I’m not cut out for that kinda work. But that brief conversation with Don was something I’ve never forgotten.
Do that. Make a lasting, positive impression on someone.
Don’t be the guy that gives the younger ones a hard time in that b******t rite of passage garbage. Don’t be the guy that ridicules because that’s what everybody at work does. Ya, maybe it’ll toughen them up but it can also make them cynical and mean.
I’m not sure if the world needs that much toughening up any more. I don’t know any kids preparing to go hunt buffalo these days or fend off saber toothed tigers. And I’m not talking about sports or the military here either. I’m talking about just regular every day life, talking about borderline bullying in the name of making someone else "a man."
Nurture the next guy, instill confidence. Give a s**t about them because they’re not punching bags, they’re impressionable human beings. Hand out compliments and useful advice and not sarcasms and put-downs. Treat them as equals and not like you’re superior. I’ve always talked to Maggie like she was an equal, treated her with dignity and respect. I’ve never talked down to her or made her feel bad about herself.
I'm not trying to come across as holier than thou or anything but I do and don't do certain things on purpose. Even more so when interacting with others.
Those of you who know me well know that I watch people closely. Watch everything closely. Half suspicious and the other half interested. All Gemini for sure.
So Maggie and I went camping with our tribe this past summer. She had never fished before so one of our friends came over to help. Kris was very patient and kind, took a few moments

When I see other drivers yawning I'm oft tempted to open my mouth in unison if/when we make eye contact.
Bepuzzlement would be almost guaranteed.
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Why are there so many pubes in the damn urinals? What the hell are people doing in there? 🙄
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tcr!
· Sep 18, 2017 at 4:04 pm
Mona mentioned on FB, “folks not getting enough vitamins.”
So I made a sign…
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I’ve gotten a lot of feedback, much of it good, from the Proof would kill me duet. If you haven’t read them you should. Pause, go now, and resume reading afterward.
Anyways... A good chunk of people can relate to the tragedy of infidelity because they’ve experienced it themselves. I don’t wanna say it’s common place but it’s certainly not unusual. I’ve had experience with it on both sides. Because I’m an a*****e.
The “cheating” part isn’t something that we really like to talk about either. Or even acknowledge. The only reason I talk about it openly now is because it was so long ago. And I’m not married to Kathy any more either.
The “I’m not enough” feelings that are front and certain during it are downright crushing. And to be completely honest, I wasn’t enough for Kathy during that time. I was emotionally crippled by my own issues and other b******t. I couldn’t be there for her in ways that she need me to. She deserved much better than what I had to offer. You want to have a healthy relationship with someone? Clean out your f*****g basement.
Some people have asked me why I still think about it. It’s not like I don’t have closure there because I do. There’s nothing more that I could say or would want to say to Kathy try to fix any of it. It’s not broken today. It’s as closed as it’s ever going to be.
I think the reason why I think about it now and then is because, well, Sara and I were watching an episode of Westworld and there’s a scene where Jeffrey Wright’s character is talking to his wife or ex-wife and she says that maybe they should stop talking about their dead son. And then Jeffrey’s character says, “the pain is all that I have left” or something similar. Not talking about s**t has done me more damage than the actual s**t itself.
The Westward scene doesn’t directly translate to my situation with Kathy but it resonates in that that short-lived, 3 1/2 year era we shared — all of those experiences, for better or worse, shaped me into who I am today. And I don’t want to necessarily forget about them because some 20 odd years later they help me be the best me that I can be. In the here and now. I don’t want to ever forget about the lessons and the heartache because I want to take those tragic experiences and use them to keep me on a spiritual path today. If that makes sense. It’s the classic doomed history repeating itself.
It’s like I’m not as much of an a*****e now because I haven’t forgot how much of an a*****e I was then.
How much of an a*****e you ask? One time I had a picture of another girl in my pants pocket and forgot about it. It was just a picture, nothing more than that but a picture of another girl nonetheless. On laundry day Kathy found that picture while doing my laundry and laid it on top of my folded clothes. She didn’t say a word either. Ouch.
Back to the here and now… I want to be able to share my experience, strength, and hope with other people if that helps them move beyond something that’s been holding them back. We deserve to live a life with less pain. Life’s f*****g hard enough without carrying yesterday’s torments around.
I had one other thought on all of this, too.
John Roderick said something on his podcast about walking into his class reunion with preconceived notions or something. I don’t remember exactly what it was but you should listen to all of him and Merlin Mann’s stuff. It’s really that good. Go listen to the Roderick on the Line podcast. DO IT.
When I think about Kathy now I just remember the girl I knew all those years ago. Just the same as when I think about the people I went to high school with. I remember them as who they were back when we were in school together. I guess I’ve never really thought about them growing and becoming bigger and better people. But that kind of discounts

Someday I would like to order a pizza and then when the delivery guy hands it over, just throw it up on the roof, frisbee style.
Not on my roof though. I don't want a pizza on my roof. Like an a*****e.
I think that this would fulfill some part of me. Fulfill some tiny destiny.
Wait. Did that happen in a movie? Was there a pizza up on some roof?What movie was it? Let me know.
As a note: this isn’t about the pizza delivery guy although I’m sure he would worried. But I’d calm his fears by giving him a sly wink and then being on my way.
…
As some of you guys know, I dictate many of my posts to Notes on my iPhone and then polish them when I’m back on my Mac. I do this because some of my best thoughts come when driving, when I’m not thinking about anything in particular.
Like the above pizza toss.
Anyways, so when I got back to my Mac today one of the things Notes heard was:
And then he wrote to them. A room of a dozen women.
When I read that I was like "aww..."
I’m sure I didn’t say that but how poetic.
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jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 16, 2017 at 12:10 am
Praise the Very Funny Loarde.
In other news:
“Skate a little lower now!”
—-Hey Nineteen by Steely Dan
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Peeps, I was driving somewhere a few days back and was in a hurry. Of course. I'd stopped at the gas station a few minutes before and that had thrown me even more behind schedule. Of course.
So I was sitting at this stoplight impatiently, rolling my eyes at the car line up before me. And then somebody knocks on my driver's side window. For a half second I thought it was the police since my license plates are expired and all.
But it was just a regular guy that wanted to let me that my gas door was open.
Way cool that it wasn't the police but even more way cool that a complete stranger had gotten out of his car at a stoplight to let me know that my gas cap was dangling and the door was open.
There I'd been racing through town with my gas cap flopping around. Like an a*****e. I had thought I'd heard something bumping but that's normal if you drive a used car. Plus, I was in a hurry. Of course.
Again, pretty cool that the dude hopped out of his car at a stoplight just to be a better person.
So then the light turned green and he started to hustle back to his car. But then he stopped, did a 180 and said, "let me just get that for you." And then he put my gas cap back on and shut the door.
Peeps, that is nothing short of America.[1]
It may feel like our world is going to s**t but we as individuals are what make the difference. In less than ten seconds that guy made the world just that much better.
So why do I put this out there for the universe to see? A moment akin to me walking around with my fly open? Because it keeps me humble, it keeps me grounded. Keeps me from thinking I'm all that and a bag of chips.
But more importantly it's a good reminder that there are way cool, selfless people out there. People doing their part to make the world a better place. People that we don't even know.
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I dictate many things to Notes.app and for this particular post it heard "America" instead of "miracle." I couldn't change it since I'm me. ↑
jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 14, 2017 at 10:10 am
Thankies.
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tcr!
· Sep 14, 2017 at 1:47 pm
Yep, yep!
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In follow up to my earlier piece, Proof would kill me, I just want to put it out there that I only talked about two of the things that Kathy did that hurt me. I didn't mention my sins, all the things I did to hurt her because that wasn't the point I was after.
My point was: we can be hurt and then move past it, that being in constant pain isn't normal, isn't something we should or have to live with.
Most importantly: she wasn’t only to blame for our failed marriage and I wasn’t the sole victim either.
What I said toward the very end:
And that’s what happens when we deal with life. That’s what happens when we process it, find closure — it no longer holds us back in our lives today.
On my end that’s a big part of why our marriage did indeed fail. During that era I was held back by my own pain and issues I hadn't dealt with. When I was with her I wasn’t able to live fully in that “today.”
My head was too full of berserk, physically present but emotions akin to a room full of pinball machines. I was maybe a year, year and a half sober and transitioning ungracefully from an out of control, drunk/drugged teenager to a sober, pretend grownup. And it wasn't pretty.
I’ve said many times that the person you all know today wasn’t the person I’ve always been. Twenty some odd years ago, man was I a riot.
Who knows what would've happened if I'd have been at peace when I met Kathy. I regret that I wasn't the best me I could be when we were together. I feel bad that the pain of our divorce is what it took for me to make that spiritual transition, to deal with shadows locked away in the basement of my soul. All those lessons and growth on the other side were in response to the heartbreak I felt from losing her.
That’s how I can be like “whatever” in the here and now when thinking about her transgressions. Siting where I do today I don’t blame her for doing what she did then because I grew as a result. I’ve processed it, let it go. Let her go.
She was doing the best she could with what was in her toolbox.
And lastly this from my researcher:
Statistically, (because I like good, hard science) young marriages don't usually work out. Even less so, when it's under the gun. And even less so after losing a child. You probably had a 5% chance of making it, at best.
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Next: Proof would kill me (closure up) →
jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 11, 2017 at 9:06 pm
“basement of my soul”—-A+
i have similar words describing the world of pain prior to enlightment: “Trailer Park Soul”, which I have often stylized with all lower case.
When I went to copyright TPS, there were DOZENS of authors with extremely similar words. Lesson is that you can’t copyright stuff fast enough. It was at least 5 years old when I went to get wrights. I have wondered what would have happened if I’d moved faster.
On the topic: I’m a big believer in starter marriages. It’s a damn shame, but I was an axxhole. I’ve totally forgiven and forgotten that one. Too much crap since to be viable.
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tcr!
· Sep 12, 2017 at 11:24 am
Re: copyrights— I think I’ve only had one thing copyrighted and that was a music CD back in the 90s. I think why I stopped bothering is because from what I read all work is automatically copyrighted but if one wanted said copyright to stand up in court one should make it official with the gov’mt. That’s just from what I vaguely remember anyways.
Re: starter marriages— yep, Kathy was good practice. I don’t know why I still think about her, it’s not like I do every day but I suppose weekly for sure.
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20170910 - Proof would kill me - MP4
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A year or so after I got divorced from my first wife one of our mutual friends said to me, “I’m so sorry that she cheated on you with John.”
Now I always had a gut feeling about that but never knew for sure. Until then.
The moment Heather said it I was just crushed. Even more so because I wasn’t really that close with her, she was just a friend in the restaurant Kathy and I both worked at. Heather had asked me a few minutes before how things were going after the divorce so her words didn’t come out of the blue. But the confirmation was still a stab, twist, gouge to my soul. And then she felt really bad because it was obvious I didn’t know.
And then I wondered how many other people knew. It’s one thing to have close friends know about your heart breaks and betrayals but it’s a whole new level of embarrassment when people from outside your inner circle get privy to things like that.
Jobs and co-workers, well, we know a lot about each other because we spend so much of our lives together. It can almost feel like high school with the secrets and the gossip. Heather was a good person though and she only said something because she cared. My other close friends at work, I wondered how many of them knew and simply didn’t say anything.
Kathy and I met in that restaurant. We were both really young. I think she was 19 and I was 21. We were just a step beyond high school really.
And there was this guy named John that used to come and sit at the counter, drink his coffee, and eat or whatever. Gab with all the servers and the like. I may have had a twinge of jealously because I was 21 and he was in his late 20s or early 30s, a full grown man with a career and house and muscles and all that. But it never really bothered me because he talked to everybody and not just Kathy. I never saw them interact in a way that was different than how he interacted with everybody else.
But one time I came around the corner and I saw John and Kathy together by the front door. He was turning to go and they’re holding hands with their arms reached out as if he’s leaving and this is a good bye, a longing farewell. And it’s very romantic between them, with him going and her not wanting him to. The look on his face and from what I could see, the look on hers was a love between them that I had thought she only had for me.
And in that instant I knew it was something more than just chitchat between them. In that moment I had one of the worst panic attacks of my life. One of the ones where I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move, heart thumping so loud I could hear it in my ears. The world had just came down and crushed me with a truth I was oblivious to. The unseen things from left field, the ones I didn’t see coming, those always did the most damage. There’s no way to brace ourselves for the surprises that change everything.
Anyways, John probably saw me out of the corner of his eye but he turned and left and Kathy walked away in another direction.
What I did was shutdown. On her. For the rest of the time we were together. We got married later even though I had completely detached myself.
It wasn’t fear of rejection or abandonment that stopped me from doing something as I’d had plenty of both from the time I was nine. What it came down to was that I didn’t know how to be assertive, to stand up for myself. I’d never broken up with a girlfriend before. Never had been as close with one either. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to take care of myself on an important emotional level.
Bad s**t had happened my whole life and this was just more bad s**t happening. And I knew how to pretend like bad s**t didn’t happen. Childhood stuff can f**k you up for a long time.
Anyways, that whole romantic scene between John

20170904 - Relapse and Reservations - MP4
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After I’d been sober for a number of years I relapsed. It wasn’t something that I thought was gonna happen. And also, it didn’t “just happen” either.
So with that being said I feel qualified, I feel confident, I feel like I’m able to talk about relapse overall. I have experience with it.
I didn’t have any deep, dark, dank secrets. I didn’t hold anything back when writing my Fourth Step and I didn’t hold anything back when sharing my Fifth Step. I made all of the amends on my Eighth Step list. I was more spiritual than I’d ever been my whole life.
So why did I relapse?
Because I quit going to meetings. I quit hanging out with people in recovery and hung out instead with “normal” people. that drank like normal people do. We had a lot in common those “normal” ones, similar interests and so on. We could bond over things I couldn’t with people in the meetings.
And really we alcoholics aren’t that much different from them. I’ve known plenty of “normal” people who had resentments, who’d been plagued with fear their whole life, who felt lost and couldn’t find their way.
Anyways with my relapse, somehow I had convinced myself that I was okay, that me drinking was okay. Plain and simple: I’d lost touch with where I’d came from.
And I write this because I hear people talk who say that the reason alcoholics relapse is because they have reservations. And I think it’s b******t to say that everyone who’s relapsed didn’t work the steps to their full ability.[1] I’ve heard that in meetings.
And further I’ve known people who have relapsed or were in the midst of a relapse who were and still are more spiritual, more kind, more compassionate and caring then those 20+ year sober guys who think they know it all. And obviously something is lacking in their program if they’re up there pounding their fists at the soapbox about a relapse they never had.
Yes, some people do relapse because there’s a secret that they don’t want to tell or they never found the humility or willingness to make a certain amend or whatever. But that’s not f*****g everybody.
Okay, obviously I have some emotion behind this but just to be clear, just because you’ve never relapsed that doesn’t mean that you can come along and tell me that I didn’t do something right the first time. Or that you can make some broad assumption, or borderline accusation against everyone who has relapsed.
Be careful with airs of intolerance or ones of arrogance. They’ll get you in trouble. Further, you’re the authority on your recovery, not mine. And further still, my relapse doesn’t discount my previous recovery. It doesn’t wipe the sobriety slate clean or take away the decade plus I was sober. It only makes my recovery now that much better.
And lastly while I’m picking bones… Who cares if I would have been sober for over 25 years if I hadn’t relapsed. I’m not keeping score. Why are you?
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Okay, I concede to the fact that I fell down on Step 12 before I relapsed. Step 10 and 11, too. But not working steps 1-9 to the best of my ability didn’t have anything to do with my relapse. ↑
jimi hindrance experience
· Sep 4, 2017 at 9:11 pm
Because he has enlightenment as his aim, a bodhisattva-mahāsattva is so called.
I still have Walter Becker on my mind but I was very struck by your comments, as usual. “Bodhisattva” is of course a rockin’ lil’ number by Steely Dan.
In other news, I feel like I’ve said these things before. I’m not thinking plagiarism, just that you are so completely in tune with things I’ve thought for a long time.
I am super-qualified on relapse.

If someone loves you then love them back.
Don't think about it.
If someone loves you then pay attention to what they do.
Often times they're telling you, without words, that they do.
If someone loves you then sometimes they won't tell you.
That's okay. Tell them that you love them anyway.
If someone loves you then don't wonder if they do.
Questions on your side can lead to questions on their side.
If someone loves you then comprehend this as an utmost responsibility.
If you love someone then love them first.
Tell them now.
If you love someone then tell others that you do.
You'll realize just how much.
If you love someone then find another reason to.
Better: find two.
If you love someone then stay in that moment.
Don't go anywhere else.
If you love someone and haven't told them in a while then what are you waiting for?
If you love someone but are having a hard time then ask god what they think.
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So this is a thing now. Keep your expectations low. I mean like really low. I don't know if it'll be anything more than just an audio version of a written piece. We'll see how it goes. Maybe I'll ad-lib now and then. Maybe I'll play the piano. At this point I'm just trying to get used to the sound of my own damn voice. 😘
You can listen on iTunes
And you can listen on SoundCloud
And you can listen on Google Play Music
And you can listen on Overcast
And you can listen on Pocket Casts
And you can listen on TuneIn
And here's a subscribe link for your podcast app: tcrbang.com/podcast/rss/
And finally, you can also listen right on the site with the #diariespodcast support the show → hashtag.
There'll be an audio version toward the bottom of each article.
Anyways, on with the show...
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When I'm behaving badly it's because I'm scared or my feelings are hurt or I’m upset or whatever. It’s not something I just do. There’s a reason there. And I've always appreciated it when other people have let me off the hook when I was acting badly. So long as I didn’t act too bad or push it too far.
With that said when other people are behaving badly I can make a fairly safe assumption that they’re acting that way because they’re hurt or sad or upset. For one reason or another, just the same as me. I would do well to take a step back and remember how I’ve felt when I’m hurt and then think, “they could be feeling the very same.” And I can show that same kind of love and tolerance towards them that others have shown me.
Everybody struggles in life. Everybody has s**t they’re going through and everybody acts badly. I don’t have a dysfunction monopoly.
So. This is all easy for me to say when I'm not in the middle of an argument with someone. But in those times I can always pause and ask for help because I don't do well in those heated moments. My mouth flies open and before I even know it I’m firing off angry texts or lashing out with a forked tongue.
Just taking a minute to calm down, to get my feelings back to normal — that always works. I'm too prone for a knee-jerk response and pausing has been one of my go-to reactions since getting sober again.[1]
In related news… The other night I was driving down the street in my neighborhood, going maybe three or four miles an hour over the speed limit. Five at most. Not incredibly fast because it’s my neighborhood and I have Maggie and my neighbors have kids, too. But I wasn’t doddling either. And then there was this dude standing maybe two feet into the street by his parked car. Holding his baby. In the dark. I barely saw them and only did because the streetlight kind of brought them out of the shadows. And so then as I was driving by the guy yells, “SLOOW DOOWN.”
Instantly and immediately I was kind of pissed like, “Go f**k yourself. The f**k are you doing standing in the street holding your kid?”
Whatever. 🙄
Okay, so flash forward a couple days later and now I’m thinking that wasn’t the best thing that I could've said or thought or felt. Ya, I probably could've been driving slower, driving the speed limit but it’s not like I was drag racing or something.
But once again the thing that bugs me is that this scene has flashed before my eyes a couple times since then.[2] I don't really feel like I did anything wrong but it keeps flashing none the less. I think maybe because there were too many times when I didn't say something and I could have. And I should have.
So when things happen where I feel like that I am in the right and don't say anything, well those things get on my nerves. It’s like I’ve got a whole backlog of them screaming to get out. It’s not like I'm running around with a headful of hate or anything but the feelings just don’t go away after I’ve felt and let them go. There obviously hasn’t been closure yet.
Kind of bothers me that I just can't be confident enough to know that I didn't do anything wrong. And not only that but more importantly it also bugs me that I'm not so spiritual to honestly look at his side of it. Think to myself how that guy must’ve felt, standing by his car with his newborn and here I come roaring down the street faster than I should’ve considering the circumstances. And ya, I probably could and should pay more attention to what other people are feeling. What’s going on in their lives.
I wish I could be more loving in general, more of the time than I already am. Sometimes it's hard to with the world we live[3] in but I’ll never ever go wrong or feel bad for being a better person.
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Keep in mind, sometimes it

And then there was that one time when it was 8 or 8:15 in the morning. I had called in sick the last couple of days because I’d been drinking. Too much. I called in[1] that morning, too, because there wasn't any way I was going to be able to pull myself out of it. Not that day for sure.
And Hell was especially hot that morning because I had not a drop to drink. Whatever I’d been drinking those past few “sick” days was gone and that wouldn’t do.
My ex-wife was going to take Maggie to school and then stop at the grocery store or something. I watched from the window as they drove down the street and around the corner. And around the next corner. The moment The Cube went beyond the trees I ran to my truck and drove to the liquor store like it was closing in five minutes. Even though the business day had barely started.
I was scared shitless while driving but really my heart was racing for a different reason. Soon the horrible morning alcoholic pains would quiet down. Soon I would feel that sweet release as Hell was put on hold. For another day.
At the liquor store I bought two half gallons of whiskey. I didn’t care what I looked like, what I smelled like, or what the cashier thought. Any public shame in that store no longer applied.
Then I raced back home as fast as I could, barely obeying traffic laws, and ignoring the other drivers. I didn’t want to see anybody I knew. Back at home I got nuzzled in the basement like I’d never left and put on Elizabeth from 1998 for background noise.[2] Then sweet bliss as I squeezed the cheap plastic whiskey bottle over and over again. Like there was no tomorrow. Any consequences for being drunk that day (or the days before) were no longer my concern. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Morning drinks mute the fires of hell.
...
This is what it means to be powerless over alcohol. This is what it means for my life to be unmanageable.
And to make my horrible story even worse I have a whole bunch of stories just like this. I played the odds each and every time I needed a drink and didn’t have one handy. I played the odds even when I did.
A guy said in a meeting that he knew exactly when he crossed over to being an alcoholic: when he started lying to his wife about his drinking. When I started hiding my drinking, started the sneaking around…that’s when all was truly lost. If you're there -- there's a way out when you're ready.
As I write and review and write this morning at 7:56 am, I’m filled with gratitude that the only morning drink I need in the here and now is a gallon of coffee. I still don’t do moderation well but I’m no longer magnetized to the basement futon and filled with emotional sludge.
And just so I don't end on a Debbie Downer: recovery isn’t so much about all the wonderful things I now have. It’s so much more about the horrible things I don’t.
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Well, I didn’t actually “call in” because that would require talking to someone. Instead I sent emails to save any verbal embarrassment. ↑
I watched A LOT of movies when I was drinking. ↑
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWdZEumNRmI
Peeps, here's a pop ballad for your Sunday morning. The chorus is good. Shut up. It reminds me of 80s skate parties and those couple of years, like 10 and 11, where my world was getting bigger but before being cool was a thing.
I'm pretty sure somebody at my house had an Air Supply 8-track or two.
Anybody wanna start an Air Supply cover band? I get to be Dudley Moore. I seriously thought Moore was in the band at first and not that little Australian, Russell Hitchcock. They could be cousins!
Speaking of Dudley... If you need a Sunday movie you should watch 1981's Arthur with Moore and Liza Minnelli. Had to have been on cable at least once a month when I was a kid.
Before becoming a full blown rebellious teenager I could relate to a character like Moore's rather than to one played by maybe a Clint Eastwood. Arthur embraced his inner child, probably too much, and he had that whole social awkwardness, spiritual clumsiness. The "I don't know how to do this so I'm gonna drink to power through." The "I have to follow rules but I won't like them." I always identify with those kind of struggles.
As a kid somewhere I knew I was going to need serious help to make it through life alive and Moore's character was some subconscious role model. I know there's parts of him in me.[1] Three cheers for cable TV. Yep, I have vivd memories of movie scenes, they're as much of my childhood as anything else.
And in the movie Hobson had some of the best snark around. After researching I see that John Gielgud won Best Supporting Actor for his performance. Good. That scene where Arthur and Hobson are bonding in the hospital -- I should've made a mental note then just how important people are and the few moments we have with them.
Anyways. Obviously I bond more with Arthur than I do Air Supply. 😉
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Please note, I seriously doubt if I was even remotely funny or likable when I was drinking. We think that we are but we're not. ↑
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I have a sign but they keep coming back. I need you to intimidate them, get them away from my doorbell, and off my porch. For good. For permanently. I want you to make them feel like the Hindus did when holy-roller Robertson said they were all demonic.
I need you to channel that Christian snobbery. That elitism those grade school girls threw at me when I was just a kid. When they told me I was going to hell. Because I wasn’t saved. And they most certainly were going to heaven. Because they were. They were gonna see their grandparents and everything. 😞
Anyways… Yes, you can and should shock them with the wonders of the United Nations, and the allures of provocative dress, and the miracles of blood transfusions. No, you cannot literally shock them with anything. That means no tasers. Realistically...real electricity is out of the question. Just fry them with your egotistical, religious superiority. Make fun of the number 1914.
Continue with belittlement of their public preachings, their doctrines, their holy translations. I’ll have 3-4 mint Watch Tower mini-magazines. They’re reprints but they won’t know. Rip them in half like the Jesus muscle men do who impress each other by tearing up bibles. For the kids, ya know. If you can do it with your teeth and biceps, kudos my friend.
Maybe tell them how much better your religious views are than theirs. Stuff like that. You don’t need to back this up with facts — remember it’s all about attitude and condemnation. Judgement is now and forever has been your ally.
You’ll be standing behind my glass front door so you should be loud. Be a little freak show or whatever. Think: TELEVANGELICAL. That slap the forehead with the palm and be healed in the name of Jesus, that’s your tone. Bring the self-proclaimed doomsday. Bring a script or ad-lib, either is fine but you won’t be allowed to actually hold the script. It’d diminish your performance for gods sake. Don’t break the glass, either. I don’t wanna be mopping up sanctified blood before Halloween.
I’ll have a tackle box loaded with eyeshadow and lipstick if you’d like to go for a Tammy Faye look. I’m in the midst of an eBay bidding war for an authentic Bakker replica wig. I’m on a limited budget so don’t hold your breath. You can, however, hold your breath for up to two minutes before Jehovah's arrival. For psychotic-comedic effect. Don’t pass out. If you do, I’ll simply roll you out on to the porch and who knows what will happen when the restorationists get here.
But check this out: I’ll have a white Megaphone Speaker PA Bullhorn with fresh batteries standing by if you need it for your final push. If you bite, lick, or drool on it — you buy it. Don't do it. I'm not even kidding.
This isn’t funny, holy wars never are, but it is a paying gig. $25 up front and $25 after you’ve sent them scampering back to Warwick. I’ll watch for them in my neighborhood and Snapchat you when I see a short sleeve and tie with a backpack. You’ll hustle on over and come in through the back because rumor has it they spook easily and can smell opposition.
Yes, there’ll be a short audition when you come for the initial deposit. I reserve the right to capture your performance with my iPhone's camera. No, it won’t be uploaded to the YouTube unless you're into that.
Serious inquires only. Don't contact me if you can't recite the goriest parts of Jobs’ plague.
Bonus: if you convert them to Christianity the wig and tackle box are yours. You can also put a sign in my front yard come December, one of them “Jesus is the reason for the season" guys. 🎄
If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, I’m sorry it’s came to this. I’ve run out of options.
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tcr!
· Aug 11, 2017 at 8:06 am

Sometimes I got something going on, something I’m burning too much daylight on, and I can’t figure it out. The path isn’t clear. The monkey chatter is as loud as it gets and I feel myself ratcheting up.
One time way back in high school I was struggling with a drawing. When I asked my art teacher for help she told me that I’d overworked it. And she was right, plain as day, clear as mud. I’d added layer upon layer of colored pencil and the drawing had turned to s**t. Inspiration and tension don’t mix.
If I don’t know the answer, don’t know what to do, stepping back always works. Put whatever down, take a breather. Let it go and move on to something else. It’s not always easy because I’m real good at continually trying to sculpt life as if it were a firm mound of wet clay. Squeezing the hell outta it until my hands are aching and sore. And most of the time that doesn’t work for me. Life’s not like that.
Inspiration often knocks on my door when I'm not looking for it, not forcing it. It's like, “That wasn't my idea. I don't know where it came from…but it's brilliant.”
Pause. Take a few minutes, hours, maybe more, and enjoy something else life has to offer. Get my head on straight. There’s no reason for me to be in a hurry.
When I return I'm blessed with clarity, guidance. If anything I’ve relaxed and let go of my frustration.
In a kinda-related example I offer two moonflower pictures from yesterday. Same flower, 40 minutes apart. It just needed some time to sort itself out. I didn’t need to “manage” the miracle.
Trust the process. Trust the cosmos. It knows what it’s doing. More than we do.
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tcr!
· Aug 9, 2017 at 9:01 am
Okay, one more moonflower picture. I’ll be handing out seeds in the fall.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGKTDY_CqMU
Peeps, here’s your find-a-space-in-the-sunshine Friday jam to blast you threw your workday. The audio's not the best but it'll do in broad daylight.
The Crow soundtrack is still one of my favorite goto albums. So many good bands, so much good music. I think I bought a CD from every artist on it. Okay, Ghostrider wasn’t Rollin’s best work but see also Machines of Loving Grace[1] and Jesus and the Mary Chain. See also Jack be nimble, Jack fall dead.
1994 was a pretty stellar year. I was two years sober, living with my brother, Scott, in a rinky-dink apartment, drove a three-speed manual black Chevy truck. Also, had my first relationship with girl that didn’t revolve around getting f****d up. I was, brace yourself, growing up. Even went and saw NIN and Marilyn Manson sometime that year. Because that’s what you do when you’re a grownup. 😉
At the time I didn’t realize how good life was, didn’t appreciate the magic under my feet. Head too full of chatter to stop, look around, and say, “this is pretty awesome.” My brother and I recorded over two CDs full of music in those days, a lot in that dinky apartment. One time we played in front of maybe 30 people in this darkly cool venue. You think I’m nervous in public now, oh my god...the horror. And they threw flowers after and I thought for sure we were well on our way to something bigger. And we might have been but he had his cosmic flight plan and I had mine. Chapters end while the book keeps going.
I still have the acoustic guitar I played at the time, the one I got from one of our friends for $25. Chris died somewhere along the way but in my memories he’s still part of my tribe from that era. Him and his ponytail.
Life was all pretty good. Pretty, pretty good. Pretty good even if Kathy, my girlfriend-turned-wife, did end up falling in love with somebody else and breaking my heart. She had her own flight plan that didn’t involve me. And that’s good because commitment and loyalty can be overrated. If something’s not working we’re better off just to quit.
Anyways, all those memories piled up in sleeping bags give me almost more gratitude than I can stand in the here-and-now. Grateful for my tribe today. When Sara and I were in Pizza Mambo earlier this summer I was thinking, "this is what life's about." More than anything I'm just grateful. Even if my lymph nodes[2] are all flared up like a pack of dire wolves.
The Gunslinger is on in 8 or so hours and I got frozen veggie meatballs in the freezer.
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I was listening to Concentration once and Lauren said to me in what I took to be a condescending voice, “weren’t they on The Crow soundtrack?” and then I said, “Shut up.” ↑
Sara said they’re fine. ↑
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I watched my mom go through something last year, something that was heart wrenching and devastating. It made her bitter and angry and changed how she saw things. What happened is her story and not important to this.
What is important and what I want to share is how watching her cope with the whole situation made me a better person. I'm very proud of her, proud of how she went through it with courage, strength, and dignity. That she made it through just by feeling what she was feeling. It gave me hope, made me want to be a better person, made me want to be my best self in times of turmoil.
Since I stopped drinking, stop smashing my life with a drunken wrecking ball I don't have many times where life comes along and instills “the fear” in me or "the hate." Not very often anyway. However, every now and then something will happen that scares the s**t outta me or sets my insides on fire.
Because that's life.
A curveball from left field will drop in and then I'll have all these emotions and I won’t know what to do.
Being who I am, my brain seems wired all wrong because I know of this escape hatch I can jump through to immediately change how I feel. I haven't considered drinking an option since I was, well, drinking but people with addictive personalities have this built-in switch that can be flipped to instantly tweak how we feel.
Having a good time? Gobble some pills and it’ll be ten times more fun. Nothing going on? Have a drink and get that party started. Feeling down? Get high and the world will go away. Having some emotional pain? Just shut down.
So way back when in the 90s the first time I got sober Jimi told me the only thing that I had to do with my feelings was feel them.
WHAT??!? Experience my emotions? That’s crazy talk.
My life plan at the very least was to be comfortable and for much of my life whenever I had a feeling I didn't like, I wanted it to go away. I mean like right now. I couldn’t handle them[1] so I would shove them way down where nobody could see. Including me. Then I didn't have to deal with the surge of adrenaline, the accelerated heartbeat, the flushed face, the spinning top thoughts taking me somewhere I most surely didn’t want to go.
But there's a side effect of condemning my feelings to my own internal hell. It leads to ulcers and outbursts. Headaches and meltdowns. The almighty pressure cooker we all know and love. You probably know this but I didn’t until almost 30: stuffing the feelings doesn’t make them go away -- they go deep.
Feeling my unpleasant feelings wasn’t a skill I’d ever mastered so whenever I had them they felt a hundred times worse than they should have. And they lasted forever. And so I kept them under a rug.
One time when I was maybe 22 my first ex-wife made a joke about me to another guy when I was leaving the room. I didn’t turn around or acknowledge it. I let it hurt my feelings for close to five months before I said something to her. My insides were torn up that whole time.
So again because repetition is the key: not feeling feelings didn't work, doesn't work. Not talking about them puts thorns in my relationships and more.
So back to Jimi’s revolutionary concept. What does work is for me just to feel however I feel and then let it go. When I do that the feelings don't last nearly as long and then they truly do go away.
Sometimes I feel particularly “vibrant” ones for days, or weeks, or maybe even months but their intensity fades as time goes by and I get on with my life. In the here and now I don’t rage nearly as much and not for nearly as long. About what isn’t important because I used to rage about most everything.
The other pearl Jimi gave me was “don’t make it any worse.” And I'm real good at making things worse, dumping guzzolene on the fire.
“OMG there's a pan on the stove, it’s starting to smoke. Imma grab this

And then there was that one time I was so full of hurt and rage that I wrote a letter equally as hurting and raging. Paper soaking wet with piss and vinegar. Stabbed dead with my pen.
And then I was out in my garage smoking with letter in hand, still seething, feeling as if my head were about to collapse in on itself.
So I lit said retaliatory manuscript on fire and tossed it into the trash can, hoping my pain would disappear in the smoke and I'd be left with ashes inside and out.
I watched mildly satisfied as the flames slowly engulfed my writings. Not overly satisfied but that would do, pig.
And then the trash can caught on fire because it was made of solid plastic. And then I thought I might've taken it a little too far as I frantically tried to snuff the fire before the neighbors saw.
I don't remember what I did with the burnt, buckled trash can.
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Yes, I still haven’t filed my taxes. No, I don’t need a condescending accountant attitude. There will be geometry involved. I’ve working with two 1095 cones and one 1099 sphere. Be aware: those cones have unequal line items and currently do not balance line for line. I’m a man, not a computer. The latter has my 1099 tax data and I’m fairly confident that reported transactions are accurate. You may need to write a calculus formula or two. We shall see.
I have a TI-84 Plus calculator (gold case) that you can use but you may have your own Casio you prefer. Pens and paper will be provided. I have two cats but they won’t bother you as they have no political affiliation. I also have a metal ruler. Again, be aware: this can cause serious injury to those who don’t heed its blade.
Your party had its founding in business and banking. I’m hoping that will be my saving financial grace. We can channel Reagan and eat jelly beans if you’re into that. I would hope you would have a briefcase. A premium, full-grain leather briefcase.
To sum this up: I’m counting on your ruthless, loophole-knowing-jumping, mathematical skills to find the deduction nooks-and-crannys so I’m not left owing the IRS thousands of dollars. Hundreds of dollars is doable. Tens of dollars would be ideal.
Hell, if the government ends up owing me money the TI-84 Plus is yours. I only seriously use it for Tetris anyways. Yes, you may show off my high-score to your friends and claim it as your own.
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One time I was driving to work on a hot summer morning. Just like today. Hung over pretty bad and nursing a pint of rum. I was in complete agony, had a fiery headache, and starting to sweat because my truck didn't have air conditioning. Taking shots now and then while auto-piloting the blue Ranger along the river. I needed just enough liquor to bring my headache down to a manageable level so I could make it through until lunch.
So then I saw a police car up ahead, speed-trapping the morning commuters. I got pretty scared. The last thing I wanted was to be pulled over and arrested on the way to work. When smelling like coffee and Captain Morgan.
The thought of having to make that phone call from jail. At that hour. And all that would come from it… It just about broke my soul.
I'd been to jail in broad daylight when I was a teenager. But being a grownup with a mortgage. Can you imagine the horror?
…
Anyways, I didn't get pulled over that morning, was let off the hook. And not because I deserved to be. And I count my lucky stars on hot summer mornings, just like today, when I see a police car…that that’s not me anymore.
“Not doing anything wrong” is a glorious place to be.
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Starting tomorrow I will randomly and routinely wake the cats up during the day because, no matter how many times we talk about this, they continually wake me up in the middle of the night with their b******t. And yes, when I do it will be in such a way as to scare them shitless.
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tcr!
· Jul 2, 2017 at 4:38 pm
I really want to scare her shitless but she’s on my leg and I worry there’d be nothing but ribbons in the aftermath 😞
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One time when I was 18 or so and had drank way more than I should’ve for it being the middle of the afternoon, I climbed way up this tree in my sister’s backyard, and then fell down the tree. Not out of it but down it. Like a fireman-pole-slide gone horribly wrong.
I have two visible scars, faint ones but visible none the less. I was like a regular Bear Grylls. Or something.
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Yes, you will be expected to clean. Netflix will be off-limits, however, you may bring headphones. But not your individualism. Independent thought is encouraged but keep moral outrage to yourself. This is a job not a march. Liberals are okay so long as you bring your own cleaning supplies. Hippies may also apply but will be required to check the hemp at the front door.
Cross-posted to craigslist →
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One of my absolute favorite lines in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous is the last pertinent idea of How It Works (PDF):
God could and would if he were sought.
We only have to seek god, that is all.
Half the time I don’t feel in touch with anything but I’m looking for a road to walk, searching for spiritual footing. I'm questing, out to slay demogorgons and smell the flowers.
When I first got sober I had to climb out of that damn hole I'd dug and unfortunately when I got out there was a huge hill before me. And then it was all uphill from there. The good news though is that the incline isn’t as steep the higher we climb, the farther we go.
No matter what I'm going through, the pain, the anxiety, the fear, the emotional puke -- they all gradually relax their grips the more I keep walking through whatever fire has been lit.[1] Then one day I realize that my feets are no longer smoking and only mildly warm, just a smolder.
It feels chaotic at times because the pain seems to come in lightning bolts that I was never expecting.[2] I've always felt blindsided by them. What the f**k was that? And then it can take months or even years to recover from those bolts. It'd be nice if pain went away as fast as it seems to come but it doesn't.
So what I do is pray for miracles because God could and would if sought. God just does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Lightning bolts can come out of the blue but so do miracles.
As an example: we'd moved to Oregon state in late 2000 right before the tech bubble publicly burst in 2001. It was impossible for me to find work and financial times were lean and then dire. In 2004 I hadn't worked full time in I don't know how long. I'd applied for jobs of all shapes and sizes, had my resume on all the online job boards, blah, blah.
I mean, you have applied to everything on wheels from Toyota to Schwinn. You're gonna get a job any day now.– Caroline Butler, Mr. Mom
And then one day I'm watching Mexican Wrestling in broad daylight and I get a phone call[3] from a recruiter looking to fill a contract spot at Microsoft. Again, what the f**k was that? I couldn't believe it. Why the hell would someone call me of all people to go hammer on a keyboard at Microsoft?
I worked there for a year as a contractor and then full-time until late 2006, met some of the best people I've ever known. My world was all of a sudden bigger inside and out. It was one of those eras in life that I still treasure when I look back.
My point is that one phone call from Vinny changed everything, changed everything from there on out. For the better. It's like when you're walking down a street in a shady neighborhood and then turn right and all of a sudden you're in the safest, hippest part of town.
Even though I was drinking at the time I knew that telephone ring was all God's grace. It wasn't anything I'd done, wasn't anything I'd surely deserved.
It's easy to loose sight of hope when the times are dark but expect miracles, peeps. They're coming soon to a theater near you -- just be open to receiving them and then embrace them when they come.
And please don't think I've transcended up to any spiritual, moral higher ground. Some days I get sucked into playing video games for hours because I don't wanna climb no damn hills. Or I'll watch Mexican wrestling because it makes me feel good and distracts me from responsibilities and real life. It's risky but I do it because I don't have any real consequences.
So with all that said, my actions seem to influence how I feel much more than the other way around.
If I act like an a*****e then I feel like one. If I act like a good person then I feel like one, too.
I just try to be the best me that I can in any given moment. And then I seek god's will. That's all.
Last thing: just look for God and worry about the finding later.
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